The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

Oni nodded, but there was an aura of distrust about him that never quite left. “How is it no one else has uncovered this information? Treasure hunters have been looking for the Honjo Masamune since the day it went missing.”

“I have access to records they cannot see,” Han said. “Government records. You should know that Japanese investigators speculated on this exact possibility as early as 1955, but by then Japan had become utterly dependent on America.”

He picked up a glass of champagne. “Loans from Washington were allowing the country to rebuild. Exports to the United States were growing rapidly, creating a new class of wealthy businessmen, while American ships, planes and soldiers protected the country from the Russian Bear and the Chinese Dragon. Considering the situation, those in power decided that nothing would be allowed to damage that relationship, least of all the sudden reappearance of a sword that was linked to Japanese nationalism, the Shoguns of old and the ruling families who’d pushed Japan into war. Nor could they explain its disappearance without implicating the Tokagawa family. So they did what all good politicians do: they buried the information in bureaucratic piles of paper that would reach to the moon, making certain the leads were never investigated and the truth went dormant.”

“Are you certain of these facts?” Oni asked.

“It’s not possible to be certain,” Han said. “But if the swords are not with the monks, then they are lost forever. But, there is also the matter of the journal. Believed to belong to Masamune and his descendants. It reveals his secrets. His methods for crafting such masterworks.”

O

ni seemed to accept that, but he remained on guard. “You’ve never shown any interest in collecting. Why would you start now?”

“I’m not here to answer your questions,” Han said. “But let’s just say, I have a sudden interest in the independence of my mother’s country. And if you do as I tell you, not only will I grant you wealth but a new life and a full pardon for your crimes.”

“Now I know you’re lying,” Oni said. “I think I’ll just take what you owe me and go.”

Han shrugged. He was done with the hard sell. He pulled a small disk from his pocket. It was larger than a normal casino chip, made of brass and octagonal in shape. It weighed heavy in the hand and had a number engraved on one side and the face of a dragon on the other.

“This marker will cover the balance of payments on your existing contract,” he said. “Take it to any table, they’ll give you high-denomination chips to play with. Or if you wish, take it directly to the cage. They will pay you in American or European currency, since those bills have larger denominations and are easier to carry. If you change your mind, hold on to the marker and call me, we’ll discuss the new deal when you’re ready.”

Han placed the chip on the table beside the window. Oni stepped forward and picked up the golden disk. He felt its heft in his hand as he weighed the options in front of him.

He glanced at Han once and then looked out through the glass to the activity below. His feverish eyes widened. “No,” he whispered.

“The choice is yours.”

But Oni was neither listening nor addressing the question of the new contract. He was staring at a figure on the walkway one level below. “No, it can’t be.”

He palmed the coin, turned and stormed toward the door.

Han was tempted to grab him but he knew better than to lay hands on the Demon.

Oni brushed past, grabbing a wineglass as he went, shattering the bulb against the wall and then storming out into the hall.

17

AFTER AN HOUR of studying the layout, Joe was heading back toward the alcove near the front entrance. The pianist had taken a break and the sounds of a violin solo were filling the room.

Finding no sign of Kurt, he accepted another glass of champagne and took a seat in one of the lounge chairs. His back was to the crowd, but he was able to see the reflection of everyone behind him in the polished side of the piano. It was the perfect way to watch the crowd without being seen.

He studied each face that passed by, looking for Kurt in the reflection. But it wasn’t Kurt that he saw. Instead, he spied a man heading directly for him and carrying something in his hands.

Joe knew he’d been made. Normal instincts of fight or flight reared up within him, but he kept calm, waiting as the deranged-looking figure grew closer.

At the very last second, Joe dodged to the side and flung the contents of his champagne flute into Ushi-Oni’s face. Temporarily blinded, Ushi-Oni’s stabbing attempt missed Joe and plunged into the soft back of the chair. But he threw his free arm around Joe’s neck, grasping him in a headlock and thrusting the sharpened stem of the wineglass toward Joe’s throat.

The crowd gasped and pulled back.

Joe was at a disadvantage. He had no leverage, but his reactions were flawless. He blocked the stem with his forearm, taking a minor wound in the process and latching onto Oni’s wrist. His other hand smashed the champagne glass over the assassin’s head, drawing blood and a severe uptick in rage.

Oni tore his arm free of Joe’s grasp and reared back for another strike. But Joe was quicker. He placed his feet on the side of the grand piano and instead of pulling away from Oni pushed toward him with a powerful shove.

The peak of the chair hit Oni in the midsection and he tumbled backward. The chair went over, but Joe sprang to his feet and swung his left foot toward Oni’s face, connecting and sending a splatter of blood and saliva flying from the Demon’s mouth.

Oni rolled with the kick and stood up, licking blood off his lips.

Joe looked him dead in the eye, extended a hand and motioned for Ushi-Oni to bring it on.