The voice reverberated inside the open fridge. “I know you’re mad, baby, but every guy at the party was looking at her. She was barely wearing anything, and—” He turned and stopped in mid-sentence. His bloodshot eyes stared blankly for a moment before a wide grin spread across his surf-tanned face. “Hey, buddy!”
Despite the painful embrace, Max relished the incredible sense of relief as he felt himself locked in a bear-hug grip.
“Sorry, bro. I thought you were Rina. We had a scrap at a beach party, and she left. But she’ll calm down in a couple days.” Jeff stepped back. “So what? I move away three months and you go all J-rock on me with that short brown hair?” He laughed heartily. “When did you get in?”
“A couple of hours ago.”
Jeff took a couple of tottering steps before steadying himself against the counter. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have come to the party. There were so many beautiful babes, although Tomoko might not have been too happy.” He adjusted his shell necklace and placed a hand on his curly red hair, which was pulled into a ponytail, the ends bleached white from the sun.
It was clear that explaining the past few days would be pointless until a little sobriety took hold. But indulgence was par for the course with Jeff; he was brighter than most but lived completely and absolutely in the moment. “The flight was kind of . . . sudden,” Max replied.
“Well, you’re here now. Hey, put your bag down, ’cause I need to show you something. Follow me, bro.” He turned and led the way through the living room and onto the outside patio, past the swimming pool. A waist-high gate sat in the middle of a concrete fence that ran along the property’s back. The rusting hinges squeaked on opening. Continuing down a path carved through a dense grove of trees, he descended a short, steep trail that changed to sand at the bottom.
“Where are we going?” Max called out, struggling to keep up in the darkness.
“Have faith, amigo.”
The salty breeze grew stronger as they made their way along a sandy path between patches of tall grass. Ahead, the beach glowed, illuminated by the homes running along its length. Jeff picked up the pace as they approached the water. Max raised his voice against the sound of the lapping surf. He could do without this game, whatever it was. “Where are you going?”
Jeff was laughing while dropping the shirt off his tanned back. “I hate to tell you, bro, but you stink—for real. And here’s the biggest bathtub in the world.” Hopping from foot to foot, he pulled off his clothes and raced naked into the black surge.
Max looked up and down the empty night beach. It had been days since he’d bathed.
Jeff’s disembodied voice mocked him from the dark surf. “Afraid of the ocean? Didn’t you do some scuba diving back home?”
Max noticed that his jeans were hanging loosely on his hips, making them easier to remove. Jeff continued to spout taunts at him as he charged into the tepid water. Salt water bit at the wound on his hand and stung his scrapes and cuts, but the pain passed quickly. The ebb and flow of the surging water felt almost healing.
“I’m telling you, buddy, you should quit your Tokyo job and move here. It’s a way better life.”
“I’d need to work out a few things first.” Max straightened upright and briny water washed into his mouth. He spat it out. “Hey, are there sharks around here?”
“Bro, there are sharks everywhere. You just have to relax and learn to swim with them.”
“Yeah.” Max rotated onto his back again. “I’m learning that the hard way.”
“They found me in Nara. They can find me here.” The bitter recounting was sharp, but short lived, replaced by exhaustion. Max’s head pressed back onto the sofa and as he spoke, his mouth felt detached from the rest of his body. “And since there’s no map to the Philippine treasure, I need something other than just the diary to give the Yakuza in exchange for Tomoko. That is, if she’s still alive.” The words stabbed even as he spoke them.
“Don’t talk crazy, man. She could be back home already. You may be worrying for nothing.”
“I tried calling. There’s no answer at her place.”
“Even so, she’s smart—that girl can talk her way into or out of anything.” Jeff held out a fresh beer. “Here you go, buddy.”
“I don’t know, man―this is scary―on a whole new level.” Max instinctively reached out, then stopped with his hand in midair. The bottle swung like a tempting pendulum, promising to numb the ache in his soul.
“It’s cool and refreshing.”
Max snapped his hand into a retreating fist. It wasn’t the time to lose what little control he had left. “No, no thanks. I’ve had enough.”
“Suit yourself.” Jeff dropped back into his plush chair and pushed their recently cleaned plates and a half dozen empties to the far edge of the coffee table to make room for his feet. He was holding both diaries. “Bro, it’s unbelievable what you’ve been through—Yakuza car chases, murder, a rooftop duel—all for these little books.” He drank down the first beer and started on the second while slowly leafing through the pages. Noticing a protruding edge of loose paper, he pulled it free and opened it. “Is this your Hanjie puzzle?”
“Huh?” The reply was groggy.
Jeff extended his leg and tapped Max’s knee with his toe. “Come on. Sleep time. We’ll figure things out in the morning.”
“Okay.” Max peeled himself off the sofa. He swayed on his feet but managed to stay upright. “Even if I get rid of the Yakuza, what about the police? And what about Mr. Golden Lily?”
“Let it go for now.” Jeff grabbed an arm, guiding the way to the adjacent room. “Don’t worry, bro. Remember that you’re talking to the dude who likes to swim with sharks.”
Max fell forward onto the partially made bed, his mumbling lips barely moving. “Gonna remind you . . . you said that.”
Outside, a male figure slipped from the passenger’s door of a maroon car before sinking into the shadow along the front edge of the bungalow. Hundreds of cicadas chirping in the trees masked the sounds of his movement. Approaching the outdoor porch light, he unscrewed the bulb with a gloved hand, plunging the front yard into darkness.
Crossing the inky driveway, he knelt beside the motorcycle. His fingers squeezed through the bike’s frame, attaching a stamp-sized magnetic device to the underside of the gas tank. Unless a complete overhaul was performed, the owner would never notice the ultra-small radio transmitter. The broadcast range was short, but it would have to do.
The man peered cautiously around before rising and jogging away unseen, swallowed by the night.
TOMOKO’S RUMBLING stomach woke her from a half slumber. She felt so hungry that she barely noticed the reek of rotting fish infusing the truck’s stale air. Hiro’s shoulder was pressed against hers, beneath the heavy fibers of a single blanket. Together, they were nestled against the stack of boxes.
A brief, uncontrollable shiver ran through her body. She’d initially resisted sitting so close to Hiro. Yet somehow, he seemed more pathetic now that he was also a captive. He had become sullen and withdrawn, like a wounded animal waiting to die.
The truck had been parked for hours in the cool night air, and the temperature in the cargo box had plunged. Tomoko fought it for as long as she could. Cold and exhaustion finally forced her to relent and climb beneath the blanket. A few days earlier, she would never have believed it, but now she understood how anything was possible in perilous times.
A metallic latch groaned and the truck’s back door notched open. Two plastic bottles rolled inward, before the door slammed shut again. Grabbing them, Hiro stuck one to his mouth and handed the other to Tomoko. The water felt miraculous sliding down her parched throat, even if it did taste mildly salty.
The truck rumbled to life and began to move. It was impossible to figure out where they were going, since they didn’t know exactly where they were. Several times during the long night, they’d heard the sound of ambulance sirens, but it didn’t help in determining their
location. The Osaka area was home to eighteen million people. They could be almost anywhere.
“Talk to me!” Tomoko tucked the blanket back in where it had pulled out.
His voice, a muffled whisper, could barely be heard above the engine. “What?”
“I shouldn’t have been so insensitive. Changing your life―any life―is hard. I’ve read articles about Yakuza—but that doesn’t mean I know who you are.”
“And yet you were right.” He studied the ceiling for while. “I read stories about great adventurers, and think constantly about making another break, and still I stay in the same place.”
She shrugged. “We all have regrets.”
“I should have at least died trying.” His words hung ominously in the air.
“I’m sure you had your reasons for staying.”
The road smoothed out as the truck accelerated up a ramp. They were on a freeway again
“What do you regret, Tomoko?”
“I . . . uh . . .” She felt unsure whether to answer. He’d never actually spoken her name before. She turned to look at his hawkish face, at the bandage she’d so carefully applied. The words rushed out before she could stop. “My girlfriends all said that dating a Gaijin was a mistake. They said I would only get hurt. And I listened to them and never told my parents—my father is so very traditional. We were always sneaking around so they wouldn’t find out, and I know that bothered Max. Then, a month ago, he confessed that he loved me, but I didn’t . . . say it back. We never discussed it, but I know he was hurt.” A feeling of embarrassment swept over her. “I’m sorry. You can’t possibly be interested in all this.”
“Don’t apologize—I asked.” Hiro glanced at her. His thin lips edged upward and his yellow teeth showed through, but it was a true smile nonetheless. “Do you love him?”
“Yes.” Tomoko felt warm and slightly relaxed, and an unconscious blush painted her cheeks. “I must sound like an immature school girl. We’re in a terrible position, and I’m whining about my relationship—or former relationship. I’m not sure.” Her eyes felt paralyzed, staring at a single spot on the floor. She recalled leaving the note on the pillow. It felt like a lifetime ago.
The truck rumbled on for a few miles before Hiro spoke again. “I did try to leave once.”
“When?”
“I was twenty-five, and my father had just died. It seemed a good time to break free, but I was captured and brought back. Oto was as cruel then as he is now. My whole family suffered. I lost my first finger and also my status. It took more then a decade to regain some trust. I could never put my mother and sisters through that again.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t escape.” Tomoko let out a sigh. Her head was growing heavier, and the cargo bed appeared to flutter. Glancing over at Hiro, she noticed he was fighting to stay awake.
The truck came to a halt, and they heard the driver’s door slam shut.
His words were slurring. “You should live the way you want to, not how tradition forces you.”
She was moved by the unexpected moment, but it was short-lived. The truck’s back door swung open. Morning light poured into the box.
The familiar voices of Oto’s two bodyguards echoed simultaneously in the chamber. “Get out.”
Tomoko crawled out from beneath the blanket toward the open door. She wavered as her feet touched the ground. They were at an airstrip of some kind. A service crew was attending to a nearby plane. A Mercedes was parked next to it, and she could see the backs of two men climbing on board. The surrounding city was pressing in from all sides, but the buildings were still a long way off.
Oto’s bodyguard tugged her away from the truck. His face was swimming in her vision, but she could see a sweeping bruise on his throat. He was evidently the one she’d hit.
The second bodyguard opened his jacket, revealing a gun tucked into his belt. “Just move toward the plane.”
Hiro stumbled so close to the guard that he seemed to be laying his head on the bigger man’s chest. “You tell me where we’re going, and I’ll walk quietly onto that plane.”
The guard shrugged indifferent agreement. “The cops let Father know about her boyfriend’s recent trip to Okinawa. So we’re all heading off on a tropical vacation.”
Tomoko’s legs felt as if they were turning to jelly. “Why is he . . . in Okinawa?” She felt the bodyguard’s arms slid beneath her as she spoke. “That bottle. There was something in the water.” The vision in front of her warped and twisted. She saw Hiro stumble and drop to his knees. Her head lolled backward. Why is this happening?
The last thing she recalled was seeing a wide blue sky.
HIS BODY felt weightless as he drifted up the cave-like stairwell into the familiar corridor. The only open route led to the office, directly in front of him. He entered and crossed to the far wall. Framed photographs of all shapes and sizes hung between the waist-high cabinets and the ceiling. The slipstream of time reversed as he drifted toward the back of the office. Decades of faces floated past. Near the room’s rear wall, his eyes focused on a modest copper-framed picture. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. A voice directly behind him whispered in his ear, “Ask President Kennedy.”
Max bolted upright. He was shaking, and his bruised ribs cried out.
The curtains on the bedroom’s ocean-side windows were flung wide open. Sunlight poured into the room. He collapsed back onto the mattress, Mr. M’s parting words still ringing in his head.
It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream.
As Max shuffled into the living room, he was greeted with a picture of Jeff sprawled out on the sofa. The two diaries lay on the coffee table, nested in a field of empty beer bottles. Lunging forward, he grabbed the diaries from their resting place. Bottles fell like bowling pins, and he used his legs and elbows to stop them from rolling off the table.
Jeff stirred. “Morning, bro—what’s going on?”
Max checked over the yellow and blue coverings. “Nothing— I just didn’t want the diaries to get beer-stained.”
Jeff closed his eyes. “Hey, I’ll make some coffee in a minute.” He was asleep again, mouth half open, as soon as he finished the sentence.
The clock on the wall displayed 9:15. Max dropped into a nearby armchair. He flipped to the center of the blue diary. Page after page of entries, dated from 1948 through 1990, documented the transfer and disbursement of billions of dollars among dozens of private bank accounts. The currency values grew increasingly large as the entries described in detail a string of backroom arms deals, political buyouts, vote tampering, covert operations, death squads, and assassinations. Most names were unfamiliar, the participants probably long dead along with Prince Takeda.
This is unbelievable. The wealth of information in his hands was staggering. If the media ever get ahold of this . . . bloody hell! No wonder people have died for this book.
One familiar name did catch his eye: President Richard M. Nixon, the thirty-seventh president of the United States. In entries dated during the 1960s, the diary told of Nixon’s deal to return a massive pool of money to Japan’s Liberal Democratic Party in exchange for supporting his bid for the U.S. presidency. The M-Fund was valued at over thirty-five billion when its control was transferred. Nixon narrowly won a 1968 election victory.
It would be worth at least ten times that much now!
Max leafed through the pages. It was riveting material, but would take months to read and comprehend. The clock now read 10:30 a.m. It was time he clearly didn’t have.
Pulling out the loose “bookmark” page, he opened it.
A series of blackened squares were marked in the previously empty grids. Max kicked the sofa. “Hey, did you do this?”
Jeff started. “What?”
Max jumped to his feet. He waved the paper and his voice grew demanding. “Did you do this?”
“Yeah, bro, Hanjie puzzles are my thing.” Jeff sat up and vigorously rubbed his nose between the knuckles of both hands. “You want som
e coffee?”
“What’s a Hanjie puzzle?”
“You remember paint-by-numbers?” Jeff yawned as he took the paper.
“Kind of.”
“Well, it’s similar, except what you do is fill in the squares based on the numbers beside the horizontal and vertical axis. You see, this row has the number one beside it. That means only one square in this row is black. This one here has a combination of one, four, and one. There are three sections in the row to be filled in— the first is a single square, the second has four squares, and the third section has one square. The brutal part is that you have to simultaneously solve both the horizontal and vertical numbers.” He hesitated before continuing. “This puzzle is truly weird.”
“Meaning?”
“I need to make coffee.” Jeff shuffled around the sofa and into the open kitchen. “Once you’re finished, it’s supposed to form a picture. Like an apple with a worm or a dragon breathing fire.”
Max was pacing. “You still haven’t answered why this one is weird.”
“Look at it, bro. It’s three things that don’t make any sense together. A sailboat, a Buddhist tomb, and . . . I don’t know, maybe a Christian cross? Usually there’s a common theme. This doesn’t make a cohesive picture.” He shrugged.
Max pointed at the paper. “Did you see the markings on the back of the page?”
“No.” Jeff flipped the coffeemaker’s switch, sending it gurgling to life.
“They look like coordinates. Maybe . . . maybe it could be a guide to one of the Golden Lily burial sites in the Philippines. If I can figure it out, possibly I can use this to barter with Oto Kodama.”
“You mean one of the 176 burial sites from the first diary?” The sound of Jeff’s voice was muffled by the open refrigerator door.
“You can read Japanese?”
Jeff lifted his head and stared smugly. “I hope so, since it was my major in university.”
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