The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

To Joe’s amazement, Kurt was still looking through the thermal imaging goggles, following Joe’s instructions perfectly, while studying the island for heat sources.

“Straighten up,” Joe said.

They were rushing toward the gap between the central peak and a building to its left. Joe calculated that they’d clear the gap with twenty feet to spare.

Suddenly Kurt pulled on the cables. “Turn back,” he shouted.

“What? Why?”

“Hard left,” Kurt said, leaning over sharply.

Joe did as Kurt ordered and they turned the wingboard rapidly, whipping it around in a 180. This cost them a lot of speed and momentum and they dropped fast on their new heading.

Trees growing out from one of the buildings scraped the bottom of the wingboard and Joe scanned ahead of them, searching for a landing zone.

There was a wide roof two hundred feet directly ahead of them, but he could see they’d never make it.

“Lean right,” Joe said.

They curved back to the right, dropped farther and thumped onto the roof of another building. The impact was hard enough that they bounced, skidded forward and then spun when the right-hand tip of the wing clipped a vent.

Joe was thrown from the bindings that locked his feet into position. He hit and rolled, tumbling several times and losing the night vision goggles in the process.

He looked up to see the wingboard sliding, stopping and then moving again as the parasail caught the wind off the peak. Kurt was still locked into the bindings and was gathering in the sail as fast as he could.

Joe rushed toward him, caught the other end of the parasail and pulled hard. The parasail collapsed with his effort and the wingboard stopped where it was.

Before Joe could ask why Kurt had called for the dangerous last-minute turn, a helicopter rose up from the far side of the central hill and thundered overhead. It was heard more than seen as all its lights were still out.

“Sorry fo

r messing up our nice approach and landing, but I caught sight of the heat plume from their engines before we crested the hill,” Kurt said. “Another few seconds and we’d have fouled their rotors in a very painful way.”

“I hope they didn’t see us,” Joe said. He glanced into the distance. He could hear the helicopter traveling straight and low. It was still blacked out and moving away from the island. There was nothing to indicate anyone on board had spotted them. “They must have been using our backup landing zone as a helipad. Awfully tight quarters to take off and land in. If I was the pilot, I’d be far more worried about the side clearance than keeping an eye out above me for anything that might be dropping in.”

“They’d be coming back if they’d spotted us,” Kurt said. “Let’s get this chute tucked away.”

Kurt gathered the last of the parasail’s material and wrapped it with the guide wires. Joe lifted the edge of the wingboard and helped Kurt shove the sail underneath.

In the distance, the helicopter switched its lights on and banked toward the city. “They don’t seem to be coming back,” Joe said. “But the real question is, did they take Nagano with them?”

Kurt shook his head. “It would make no sense to bring him here and then take him away. That was a shuttle run. A drop-off. He’s here, all right, probably with your old friend Ushi-Oni. They just can’t keep the helicopter here for too long on the chance someone would notice.”

43

HASHIMA ISLAND

USHI-ONI stood by a dilapidated building watching the helicopter leave. He would have preferred to be on it, but Han had ordered him to stay behind and had promised to arrive shortly with his payment, assuming the swords were authentic.

They’d better be authentic, Ushi-Oni thought to himself. He’d killed three policemen and half a dozen Shinto priests and monks to obtain them.

He glanced at the sword in his hand. It was the famed Honjo Masamune, if the dying monks were to be believed. Ushi-Oni wasn’t sure. He had to admit the weapon was light; in fact, it seemed to weigh almost nothing at all. And how it gleamed.

All around him was rubble, crumbling concrete and tangled vines. The clouds were growing thicker and lower as the threatened storm closed in, but the sword caught what little light was reaching them and amplified it.

Rumor had it that Masamune had worked crushed gemstones into his blades. Oni wasn’t sure, he could see nothing of the sort, and such an act would make the weapons brittle and useless for fighting, but the weapon was almost luminescent in his hand.

A rusted metal door opened behind him and Han’s lead scientist Gao poked his head out. Gao’s face had a feral quality to it. He reminded Ushi-Oni of a rodent emerging from its den.