He delved into the details of escape. At the outset it seemed an impossible task. He was so fixated on the plan that his breathing slowed to no more than two or three inhalations per minute. He no longer felt pain or heard the Buddhist monk. He was in a world of his own, a timeless enigma. Finally, he was free, on his way to Lucy and the kids, the plan was perfect. He opened his eyes.
The Buddha monk sat cross-legged opposite him, staring intently. “Well done, Mr. Voss, your mind is now clear. We’re finally making some progress,” he said ruggedly.
Kevin was pleased the torture was momentarily over and certain the Buddha monk had no real idea of his thought process. The previous night’s events had confirmed that the temple was a sinister place and the Buddha monk’s theories a sham.
Later that evening, Utsukushii came for him. He was repulsed by her, angry at how she’d slipped to this lowly existence. She noticed his distant gaze and bowed on her knees in front of him. He approached her and gently lifted her chin. Tears streaked down her cheeks, beneath hollow eyes.
“I’m sorrly. Nobotty kan helb me,” she muttered, battling through emotion.
He bent down and hugged her, stroking her hair gently while she cried in his shoulder. There was nothing he could do for her, and he was disgusted with himself for judging her. She was always kind to him, and he didn’t return the favor.
The next few days went by smoothly. The beatings had completely stopped and he focused solely on his escape plan during the long meditation sessions. He was allocated more time for his meals and regained his physical strength. At night, on the way to the bath house, he would gradually map out the hallways in his mind. He reasoned that if Utsukushii could walk the entire way in the dark, he could do it as well. He would close his eyes and walk behind her counting to himself. After several trips in the blind, he was able to get to the courtyard seamlessly. He was ready, it was time to go home.
After every meditation session the Buddha monk would leave the Keisaku stick on the right side of the medal door. This morning was no different. Kevin trailed behind him at a close distance and slipped the stick under his robe as they exited the door. The Buddha monk suddenly stopped and turned toward him.
“I’m very satisfied and happy for you. These difficult skills are becoming natural,” he said proudly.
Kevin nodded nervously, beads of sweat building up over his eyebrows. The Buddha monk studied him momentarily with his large bulging eyes, then abruptly turned around and continued down the hallway. He let out a sigh of relief and quickly followed. Between the times of the temple meals, he concealed the wooden stick under the futon in his room. The rest of the day went by uneventfully, but he struggled to conceal his anticipation. It was literally a do or die moment, there was no margin for error.
That night he returned with Utsukushii from the bath house, knowing that it would be the last time he would see her.
“Guud night,” she said casually.
He stared at her longer than usual, holding her hands tightly. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, “I’ll get you out of here one day, thank you for everything.”
Her eyes glistened with raw emotion. She choked as she said the words, “I love yuu, guudbye.” She was unable to hold back the flooding tears and swiftly headed for the door, gasping as she spilled into the corridor.
Kevin lay down on the futon, resolving not to forget her. He was relieved to find the wooden stick hadn’t been discovered and correct in assuming that the monks had relaxed with his room inspections in recent days. Earlier, on the way back from the bath house, he’d heard the unmistakable rotor of the helicopter. It was just a matter of time now. He lay still on his futon, waiting for the dead of the night. He replayed the plan in his mind, he would have to do something he’d never done before and he didn’t know if he had it in him. A few hours later, a profound darkness engulfed the room, indicating that it was deep into the night. He jumped up and grabbed the stick. It was time to go. He stealthily headed into the corridor and began to count his way through the pitch blackness, like an astronaut floating through dark outer space.
Five, six, seven, eight, NINE.
He counted under his breath. The dragon door was to his right and he could he hear faint sounds emanating from within. He sat down on the matted floor and gripped the stick. He waited for what seemed like eternity, shaking with adrenaline. Suddenly, the dragon door whooshed open and streaks of the red candlelight glow spilled into the corridor. He sprung to his feet and crept away from the light. In the semi-darkness, he looked like an ordinary monk. A man with a golden Venetian mask stepped out into the corridor and noticed him in the shadows. He had a small frame and the mask protruded on either side of his face. He wore a classic black tuxedo with a white button shirt and butterfly bow tie. In his hands, he held a small Warosoku candle to illuminate the way. Kevin bowed in typical Buddhist fashion, concealing his face. He pointed in the other direction of the corridor. The man nodded in acknowledgement and turned around. Kevin moved behind him like a leopard stalking its prey, heart beating wildly. He maintained a steady grip on the stick. He was so close, he could see his victim’s slick Asian black hair, the locks drooping over his white collar. He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, thought about how these men abused Utsukushii, and swung the stick as hard as he could toward the back of the head. The cracking sound of wood smashing against the skull pierced the stillness of the night. The man involuntarily dropped the candle and collapsed like a heap of rubble on the mat.
Kevin quickly snatched the candle and placed its thick base between his teeth. He grabbed the sprawled, unconscious man by the legs and dragged him down the corridor. This time he had light, and he tugged the man’s body as fast as he could. He was like a crazed animal on the hunt, racing down the hallways. He dragged the man into his room and rapidly undressed him. He stripped down naked himself and began to dress the man in his saffron robes. He placed his hand on the back of the man’s head to lay him down gently on the futon. A warm liquid flooded his palm. He stared at it, shocked, uncertain if it was just blood or blood mixed with brain fluid.
Oh my God, I’ve killed him.
How is that even possible? I was hit multiple times during meditation with the Keisaku stick and never did it penetrate my skin or cause serious injury. It was flexible in a way that prevented grave bodily damage. Did these fuckers switch the stick or did I lash out with unreasonable power?
Either way, if he had just killed a man, he was fucked. In Japan, the accepted legal practice for murder was death penalty by hanging. He gawked in horror at the lifeless man, sweating profusely and panting like he’d just finished a marathon.
Fuck it, this was self-defense. Nobody here is innocent. I have to try get out of here.
He wiped his hand on the blankets and grabbed the man’s clothes, squeezing into them. Everything was around two sizes too small. He tugged and ripped at the clothes to get them to fit. The small tuxedo made him look like an overgrown penguin. He was unable to fully button the pants that ended just above his ankles in Parisian style, so he just fastened them with the belt. With his shirt half buttoned and shoes bursting at the seams, he stumbled into the corridor. The only thing that fit right was the mask. He blew out the candle to avoid drawing attention and dashed down the corridor. He knew the way instinctively and maintained a rapid pace. He was sweating profusely under the mask, sweat dripping down the nape of his neck and chest. He stopped before the final temple door leading to the courtyard. He recouped his breathing and composed himself.
OK, this is the money time. I have to stay cool to have any chance of getting out of here alive.
He thought about Lucy and the boys. He had to stay strong and get out of here for them. He slowed his heart rate and concentrated on the task ahead, exactly like he’d trained during countless meditation sessions at the temple. He whipped the door open; the cold late-night air stung his sweat-covered chest.
In front of him lay a long velvet red carpet leading to the back
door of the courtyard. Monks kneeled on either side with heads bowed, burning torches illuminating their solemn faces. They were chanting in unison, “Namu Mnoyo Renge Kyo,” to the rhythm of the steady boom boom ba ba boom boom drum beat coming from the corner of the courtyard. He descended the cobbled stones and stepped onto the red carpet. He lifted his head confidently and strutted toward the exit door. The beating and chanting continued unabated. Nobody paid attention to him as he hobbled his way toward the door, the small leather shoes slicing into his skin.
When he reached the doorway leading to the valley below, his heart sank. The Buddha monk was blocking the exit, his fat palms pressed together in prayer. Kevin stopped right in front him and glared squarely into his oval eyes. The chanting of the monks stopped abruptly. Surely it was the end of the road, he would never reach his family. He was such an idiot for not realizing what was truly important in life; he chased vanities. Now, while he stood in front of the Buddha monk, he only desired one thing, to kiss them goodbye. The Buddha monk raised his spread palms into the night air and chanted in a deep guttural voice, “Namu Mnoyo Renge Kyo.” Immediately the rhythmic drumming and chanting of the monks resumed. He stood aside and made way for Kevin to pass.
No chance in hell that he didn’t recognize me.
He hesitated, sensing that as soon as he stepped through the door, they would stab him in the back and leave him to die in the lush green valley grass. The Buddha monk noticed his hesitation and motioned with his hands that he could head toward the helicopter. There was no choice, it was too late to plead for forgiveness or beg for his life. Like Winston Churchill famously said, “You don’t negotiate with the tiger when your head is in its mouth.” He closed his eyes and stepped out beyond the wall. He savored every fresh, cold breath, knowing that at any moment it could be his last.
By the time he opened his eyes, he was a few feet away from the helicopter. A tall masked man wearing a tailcoat tuxedo and bow tie welcomed him. In his large white-gloved hands, he held a silver tray with tulip-shaped glasses, filled to the brim with champagne. He seemed like a waiter, attending to the traveler’s needs. Kevin motioned with his hand that he didn’t want any champagne and quickly climbed into the luxury helicopter. A few masked men were already seated, some were sleeping in the plush saddle-brown leather seats, while others drank champagne and chatted excitedly. He picked a seat in the far corner and buckled the seat belt. He laid his head against the headrest and pretended to be asleep. Over the next hour, the helicopter gradually filled up with masked men, every seat occupied. He maintained his sleeping posture and so far, he was being generally ignored. Eventually the waiter closed the helicopter door and they whizzed through the foggy mountain air. He let out a deep sigh of relief, watching the view of the temple fade away.
Suddenly, one of the masked men pointed to Kevin’s right hand and said in a polished New York accent, “Looks like you had a good time, party boy.” He looked down, horrified at his bloodied hand. He quickly rubbed it against his pants to try to wipe off some of the blood, but it had already dried.
The American laughed out loud. “Oh, don’t worry about me. We’ve all been there.”
Kevin nodded and smiled as genuinely as he could muster. These people were a bunch of sick fucks. It worried him that there was an American on board, his plan depended on the assumption that his captors only had influence within Japan. The American sipped his champagne quietly and stared out the window.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said to Kevin.
The early signs of sunrise were appearing above the mountaintops. Mild blues and soothing pinks blurred together in the silver fog, painting a breath-taking scene. Even when he was clinging to survival and drowning in hardship, the world remained magnificent.
9
The Hour of Reckoning
The shiny, unique structure of glass and steel stuck out like a diamond from within the fog. It stood tall and aloof in the northern part of the city. Kevin instantly recognized the Umeda Building, which defined the Osaka skyline. They were airborne for approximately twenty minutes since leaving the temple and rapidly descending toward a cylindrical skyscraper in the center of the city. He was absorbed by thoughts of the man he had attacked. His mind swirling around the images of the man’s blood on his hands, he shuddered at the realization that he’d most likely killed him. He had crossed the unthinkable line that separated man from animal, killing for survival. He feared his chances of successful escape were borderline impossible, ruined by a single fatal miscalculation. The monks at the temple would soon realize that he was missing and would surely find the body in his room. If the man was indeed dead, all Japanese authorities would be on high alert to detain him. If he wasn’t dead, he needed to know his identity. He needed any possible clues or links to the criminal activity of his captors. He reached into the jetted pocket of his tuxedo and inconspicuously pulled out the man’s slim Louis Vuitton leather wallet. It contained some folded-up cash but no driver’s license or other form of identification. “Fucking unbelievable,” he blurted out loud in frustration.
The unbearably loud chuff chuff chuff of the helicopter’s rotors rang in Kevin’s ears as the door slid open. All the masked men quickly piled out, guided toward the building’s Nexway high-speed elevator by armed security guards. The cold early-morning wind blew wildly as he weaved his way through the crowd of suited men. The surrounding guards were smartly dressed in matching black suits and ties, carrying automatic-assault rifles. They motioned him to enter the elevator along with at least ten other temple guests who were all still wearing their Venetian masks. While the elevator rattled through over 100 floors, Kevin analyzed his next move. He had no way to plan for this situation in advance, and he racked his brain for possible escape options.
In less than a minute, the elevator’s wall-to-wall digital screen displayed Parking Level Two. The metallic doors swished open, revealing a narrow red carpet running the length of the pavement’s edge. Two muscular guards stood on the end of the carpet, attentively scrutinizing the temple guests. The guards resembled professional bouncers or doormen from a posh NYC nightclub. They were courteous, but their body language said I’ll beat your ass if you step out of line. One of them held a scanning device and approached the first masked man in the line. The man stretched out his left wrist toward the device and it pinged like a supermarket goods scanner. Within seconds a black Mercedes screeched toward them. An elegant Japanese chauffeur stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the door for the masked man, whisking him away immediately.
Kevin was seventh in line and he watched intently while everybody followed the same process. He had to figure out what they were scanning, he had nothing on his wrist. Eventually it dawned upon him and his heart skipped a beat. The person before him slightly lifted his jacket sleeve, extending his arm toward the scanner. His wrist revealed a tasteful leather strapped watch, half nestled in the sleeve of his white shirt. The guard hovered the scanner over the man’s wrist and it pinged loudly. Kevin watched the man enter the black Mercedes and disappear from the parking lot. He choked, hot waves of panic flushed his face. He figured the watch contained a chip and served as identification, alerting each guest’s personal driver once scanned. This system was impenetrable and provided the ultimate level of anonymity for the temple guests. He stood motionless just staring blankly into the parking lot. No chance he could resist or run, they would shoot him down before he could even step off the pavement.
His turn arrived, and the guard placed a huge beefy hand on his shoulder, indicating for him to stretch out his wrist and step forward. His legs wobbled, fear stemming the blood flow to his lower limbs. He tried to imitate the exact motion of the men before him and stretched out his shaky left arm toward the scanner. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the impending commotion. He could feel the scanner brushing up against his wrist, but no ping. “Sir, please take off your suit jacket,” the guard said in a burly voice. He struggled to remove the extremely small
jacket and began to sweat profusely, the jacket’s ripped lining clinging to his torso like cellophane. The second guard approached Kevin from behind, placed both hands on his collar, and in one smooth motion stripped the jacket from his soaked back. Kevin stood there shaking, refluxing involuntarily from the urge to vomit. Both guards were now scrutinizing him intently. Kevin panted to calm himself, cupped his right hand in a C shape and moved it to his mouth in a short arc, signaling that he’d drunk too much. The guards looked at each other and laughed heartily while he remained hunched over gasping for air.
“OK, no more drinks for you, please give me your left arm again,” the guard chuckled.
Kevin slowly lifted his arm, which was bare from the elbow down. At the temple he rolled up the sleeves, the shirt was too small and he could not bend his arms with the sleeves buttoned at the wrist. The guard grabbed Kevin’s sweaty forearm and began to unroll the sleeve, still chuckling under his breath. He placed the scanner over the sleeve, which was now dangling a hand’s breadth above Kevin’s wrist. He hovered the scanner, but still no ping. He yanked Kevin’s arm and twisted it so that the sleeve was at a different angle to the device. A small beep beep suddenly emanated from the scanner. Within seconds a black Mercedes hurtled toward them, its tires screeching wildly on the parking lot’s smooth tarmac. Astonished, Kevin glanced downwards at his unrolled sleeve, noticing the glittering gold cuff link. He smiled at his luck and resolved to be more attentive in the future. He climbed with renewed hope into the relative safety of the Mercedes.
The Voss Coin Page 7