The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15) - Page 43

“Wish us good luck,” Kurt said.

“You have the coins for that,” Nagano replied, as he opened the door.

Kurt stepped from the car, buttoned his jacket and waited for Joe. As Nagano got back in the car and drove off, they walked up the steps and into a lobby as elegant as that in any five-star hotel.

Marble floors, crystal chandeliers and modern furniture were arranged in the open space that curved around in both directions. A pianist, with a violinist accompanying him, played quietly in one section of the lobby, while tall women in daring dresses moved here and there carrying silver trays covered with champagne flutes.

“Nice place,” Kurt said. “Can’t believe you’re my date this evening.”

Joe adjusted his cuffs. “How do you think I feel?”

They were ushered through security, where their phones were confiscated and placed in small lockers. Each of them was given a key.

A body scan came next, using a wand similar to those at the airport. It beeped repeatedly at Kurt’s side. He pulled out the transmitters, holding them out for the security guard to see.

The man grinned. The five-yen coin, with its distinctive yellowish tint and small hole in the center, was considered good luck all across Japan. The guard had seen these coins before; many gamblers carried them.

“For luck,” Kurt said, offering one to the guard. The man refused and the coins went back into Kurt’s pocket.

Finished with the security check, Kurt made a straight line to the nearest hostess. He took a champagne glass from the tray, smiled at the woman and glanced around.

Joe met him a moment later. “Pretty good crowd.”

“I heard the Colosseum used to pack them in, too.”

“Split up?”

Kurt nodded. “I’ll go this way,” he said, pointing. “Let’s make a few laps and check out the levels. Look for exits in case we need them. If we don’t bump into each other in an hour, let’s meet back here by the piano. Feel free to blow through some of that money. The faster we go into debt, the quicker we’ll get front-row seats to the fight.”

Joe scanned the crowd. “I think I’ll mingle as I toss the cash around. These look like the type of women who appreciate a large expense account.”

Kurt tipped his glass to Joe and let him wander. After a final scan of the lobby, he turned in the other direction. Kurt moved slowly, without any sign of haste, one hand holding the champagne flute, the other in his pocket, fingers on the lucky coins.

* * *

• • •

JOE WANDERED the ring-shaped building, studying the faces that passed while he pretended to look at the art on the walls. Though he’d given Kurt the best description he could, Joe was the only one who’d seen Ushi-Oni up close and that meant Joe was far more likely to spot the man they were looking for than Kurt.

He made a circuit of the upper level, moved to the inner wall and gazed through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Down below, at least four stories beneath him, lay the combat arena. Circular instead of square, it was partially obscured by a bank of floodlights suspended from a metal rigging secured to the walls by guide wires and a catwalk.

The lights were off at the moment and the arena was empty—as were the seats around it. For the time being, he’d have to look elsewhere for Ushi-Oni.

* * *

• • •

KURT WAS on his second glass of champagne by the time he reached the casino level. He’d yet to spot anything resembling a feverish hit man nor had he spent a single yen of the money given to him by the Japanese Federal Police. It was time to change that.

He passed several high-stakes blackjack tables, looked in on a craps game, where the players were stacked three deep, and then wandered through an aisle packed with old-fashioned machines that were clanking and clunking as heavy silver balls bounced around inside them and neon flashed and flickered in pulsating frenzy.

Patrons stared at the machines as if the mysteries of the universe would be found within, taking no notice of Kurt as he examined their faces.

“Pachinko?” a voice suggested.

Kurt turned. A seductively dressed hostess was motioning toward an open machine.

“Arigato,” Kurt said. “Not right now.”

Tags: Clive Cussler NUMA Files Thriller
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