The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

“I’m sending you a link,” Ushi-Oni said. “It will tell you what you need to know.”

The phone chirped as the link arrived. Han held the phone out to watch. It was a Japanese news report, indicating that the death toll from the blaze at the castle was now up to eleven, including three of the four Americans and the castle’s owner, Kenzo. Several others were still in critical condition and not expected to survive.

On the video, the reporter was standing outside the hospital, explaining that the cause of the fire was under investigation but that there was little information to go on.

“You should pay me extra for such a job.” Ushi-Oni wheezed as he spoke and went into a short coughing fit as soon as he finished.

“Are you ill?” Han asked.

“I was injured,” Ushi-Oni said. “But I’ve done my job. Now it’s your turn. I want my money.”

Han wondered how badly the Demon was hurt. Perhaps the fumes had burned his lungs as well. “You’ll be paid what I promised. But I’ll have to double-check this information.”

“Do whatever you have to,” Ushi-Oni said. “But I’m not waiting. There were survivors. I need to disappear in case the truth comes out. I want that money tonight.”

“I have other things to do,” Han said.

“Don’t think you can cheat me,” the Demon snapped. “Better men than you have died trying.”

The last thing Han wanted on his hands was an angry, jaded assassin. The money itself was meaningless but the principle mattered. “I’ll pay you tonight. I may even have another job for you—if you’re up to it.”

Silence for a second, then, “Payment first. After that, we can talk.”

“Of course,” Han said. “I’ll send you a location where the money will be distributed. You’ll have to dress for the occasion.”

“I’m not coming to you.”

“Neutral ground,” Han insisted. “The Sento. Trust me, you’ll see plenty of your old friends there.”

Sento was a form of the verb meaning to fight. But it was also the name of an illegal club and gambling palace. Casinos weren’t allowed in Japan. That didn’t mean they were nonexistent.

“Fine,” Ushi-Oni said. “I’ll meet you there. No tricks.”

Han wouldn’t need any. The Sento was an upscale place, hidden on the outskirts of Tokyo. It was frequented by high rollers, the young rich who wanted a thrill, criminals who exuded class and the occasional politician.

It was run by one of the prominent Yakuza cartels and there would certainly be other gangsters among the crowd, but none of them would have any connection to or love lost for Ushi-Oni. Their only concern was that nothing disrupt their business and, to that end, they employed a large force of armed men and other security measures.

All who entered were searched for weapons and wires. In Han’s opinion, that made it the safest place on the entire island to finish his business with the Demon.

14

OSAKA BAY

PAUL STARED straight ahead. Clad in a black wetsuit and a full-face helmet, he gripped the frame of the Remora and held tight. It felt like he was riding a toboggan down a snow-covered mountain in a stiff headwind. His hands were clenched around the two metal bars that extended from the body of the machine. His feet were wedged into a space just ahead of the propulsion duct. The propeller, shrouded by a circular fairing, lay just beyond.

“Keep the speed down,” Paul said, speaking into the microphone in his helmet. “One slip and I’ll be looking for new toes.”

The signal was relayed to the surface where a repeater sent it on to Gamay, who was controlling the ROV from a boat a hundred yards off. Her reply came over the intercom with a bit of interference. “You insisted on going down there.”

“Next time, I’ll let you win that argument.”

Keeping himself close to the body of the ROV, Paul risked a glance to the side. Off in the distance, through the murky waters of Osaka Bay, he could just make out the wake of Gamay’s boat: a white slash against a dark background.

Though he was only traveling at a depth of sixty feet, the surface was a dim shadow above him. Heavy ship traffic churned up sediment in the harbor, while runoff from the urban areas and industrial pollution caused algae to bloom and chased off the fish that ate it.

“I can barely see a thing,” he said. “How far out are we?”

“Quarter mile to go,” she said. “I’ll have to start veering away from the ferry in a moment. But I’ll lead you right toward the center of the hull. Let me know as soon as you catch sight of it. From that point on, I’ll adjust course based on your instructions.”