The Rising Sea

by Clive Cussler

  Flashlights were probing around down below as security members tried to figure out what had gone wrong with the lights. Time for questions had run out. Kurt dropped the pills over the side. “You’ll find them in the arena,” he said, “have a nice trip down.”

  With that, he knocked Kashimora’s foot from the railing. The heavy mobster, still entangled in the rope, fell, but slowly, as he was balanced out by Joe’s weight. He hit the ground with a soft thud, freed himself and immediately began looking for the orange pills.

  Up above, Kurt and Akiko helped Joe over the railing.

  “Thanks for the lift,” Joe said. “Did I see someone else dropping down the other side or am I hallucinating?”

  “Just getting rid of some deadweight,” Kurt said.

  “Deadweight and our ticket out of here,” Akiko said.

  Joe stared at her and blinked. “Akiko? That guy must have hit me harder than I thought.”

  “I’ll explain later,” Kurt said. “First, we need to create a distraction. Give me that fire extinguisher.”

  Akiko picked up a red-painted tank and handed it over to Kurt. It was a dry-chemical fire extinguisher. Kurt pulled out the cotter pin, compressed the handle and tossed the extinguisher over the edge. It fell in what seemed like slow motion, trailing white vapor and hitting the arena below like a bomb.

  “Fire!” Akiko yelled in Japanese. “Fire!”

  The flashlights down below converged on the billowing cloud. In the dim glow, it looked like smoke. The nervous crowd erupted into chaos and people began running in every direction.

  “Let’s go,” Kurt said.

  They moved along the catwalk and climbed through the access door in the far wall. From there, they entered a maintenance tunnel. At a Y-shaped junction, they turned right, found another door and pushed out into the night.

  By now, the lights were coming on behind them. People were rushing out every door. Cars were headed for the main gate.

  “I don’t suppose you brought a car?” Kurt said to Akiko. “Maybe one of those classic automobiles from Kenzo’s collection?”

  “No,” she said. “But we could steal one.”

  Kurt looked toward the main gate. There was too much commotion. The security guards were out and the driveway was turning to gridlock.

  “Can’t risk it,” Kurt said. “They’ll be looking at every car that leaves the premises. We need to exit without saying our good-byes. Follow me.”

  He led them away from the structure and out into the dark of the ornamental garden.

  “They may have cameras out here,” Joe said.

  “No one left in the security bull pen to watch them,” Kurt replied. “But let’s get to the fence and get over it as soon as possible.”

  “Then what?” Akiko asked.

  “We flag down a passing car—hopefully, something high-end with plenty of headroom.”

  “A Bentley would be nice,” Joe said.

  Kurt smiled in the dark. “My thoughts exactly.”

  They crossed the grounds and reached the twelve-foot iron fence. Kurt pulled out the phone he’d stolen off of Kashimora. He dialed a number from memory and waited for an answer.

  He started speaking the moment Nagano picked up. “This is Kurt. We’re on the west side of the property, by the fence near the access road. Can you pick us up?”

  “I’m down the road,” Nagano said. “Cars are streaming past. What happened?”

  “I’ll explain when you get here,” Kurt said. “But make it quick or they’ll feed us to the koi.”

  Kurt heard the Bentley’s engine roaring over the phone. It was a comforting sound.

  With the phone back in his pocket, he reached for the bars of the wrought iron fence.

  “Don’t!” Joe shouted.

  Kurt turned and saw Joe pointing to well-disguised wires looping in and out of the hollow crossbar. “Electrified?”

  “Looks that way,” Joe said. “The second wire could be tied to a sensor. One way or another, if we touch the fence, they’re going to know where we are.”

  Kurt looked back toward the main building. He could hear dogs barking and see flashlight beams playing across the grounds. “They’re going to figure it out soon enough anyway. Can you short it out?”

  Joe was looking for a weak point. “Not the way they’ve set it up.”

  “They’re coming,” Akiko said.

  So was Nagano. Far down the access road, a pair of headlights swung into the lane. Kurt could hear the big engine of the Bentley growling as it rushed toward them. He got on the phone again.

  “We’re trapped behind an electric fence. You’re our only hope to get out. The lower part of the fence is a brick foundation. You need to knock a hole in it for us to crawl under.”

  The Bentley was closing in, as were the dogs and the security guards.

  “I see you,” Nagano said. “Stand back.”

  Kurt waved Joe and Akiko back from the fence as the Bentley slowed down, swung wide and then turned toward the barricade, accelerating once again.

  It hit the barrier like a three-ton hammer, bending the iron bars and, more importantly, blasting a two-foot gap in the brick foundation.

  A cloud of dust swirled, lit by the Bentley’s high beams. The flashlights from the guards converged on them and the dogs were released. They sprinted forward in a yelping pack.

  “Go!” Kurt shouted.

  Nagano pulled the Bentley free. Shoving a few stray bricks aside, Joe crawled through, Akiko followed and Kurt dove through right behind her.

  By the time he got to his feet, Joe and Akiko were getting into the car and the dogs were bounding down the hill.

  Kurt rushed forward, pulled the front door open as the pack of dogs made it to the fence and charged underneath. He jumped inside and slammed the door behind him, closing it against a flash of canine teeth.

  “Get us out of here!”

  Nagano had already stepped on the gas. The Bentley spun its tires in the gravel and charged off in a cloud of dust, leaving the guards and the barking dogs far behind.

  “I hope this isn’t a one-way road,” Joe said.

  “Not to worry,” Nagano replied. “It comes out on a secondary highway. We should have no problems.”

  Kurt sat up and looked through the tinted back window. “Anyone following us?”

  “Not that I can see,” Nagano replied, looking in the mirror.

  Joe and Akiko popped up, blocking the view.

  “This is most peculiar,” Nagano said. “I remember dropping off two passengers, fully clothed. I’ve picked up three and one of you is wearing pajamas. Please tell me all this commotion is not because one of you kissed the wrong woman.”

  “Not this time,” Joe said.

  Kurt cut in. “Superintendent, allow me to introduce Akiko. Akiko, this is Superintendent Nagano of the Japanese Federal Police. I believe he’s been looking for you.”

  A scowl crossed her face, but she said nothing. Nagano was quiet as well but began to laugh softly. “It must have been quite an evening.”

  “That it was,” Kurt said. “It’s not every day you win ten million yen, find a beautiful woman and rescue your best friend from certain death, only to be chased by men with guns and dogs.”

  “Don’t believe a word of it,” Joe said. “That stuff happens with alarming regularity around here.”

  Akiko glanced at Joe and then looked back to Kurt. Her lips curled into a smile and she laughed softly. It was the first sign of mirth Kurt had seen from her. “Don’t forget,” she added, “we also poisoned a high-ranking Yakuza leader.”

  “Terrific,” Joe said. “That should add to our life expectancy.”

  “We never actually poisoned him,” Kurt said. “I found a bottle of caffeine pills in the locker room. People who have to be on their feet for ten
hours a day tend to use those kind of stimulants. Akiko crushed up five of them and dumped them in his drink. Between the caffeine rush and the power of suggestion, he probably felt like his heart was going to blow.”

  “He may still want revenge,” Nagano warned.

  “Not likely,” Kurt said. “Otherwise, he’d have to tell everyone that he helped us escape.”

  Across from Kurt, Nagano nodded. “Considering what it’s going to cost me to repair this car, I hope you accomplished more than upsetting the Yakuza.”

  Kurt grew serious. “We found out who paid for the attack. A Chinese businessman named Han.”

  Nagano glanced at Kurt. “Walter Han?” As he spoke the name, the superintendent’s voice was half an octave deeper than normal. “No, no, no. Surely, you misunderstood.”

  “I heard what I heard,” Kurt said. “He paid Ushi-Oni to attack Kenzo’s castle.”

  “It makes no sense,” Nagano insisted.

  “Why?” Joe asked. “Who is he?”

  “Han is a high-tech magnate,” Nagano said. “An industrialist whose companies build aircraft parts and machinery. They sell advanced robotics systems to factories here and in China. He’s been a powerful voice suggesting China and Japan should end centuries of suspicion and begin working together. This is a man who spends time with Prime Ministers and Presidents, not rubbing shoulders with the Yakuza.”

  “Then where would one of those Yakuza bosses get the name?” Kurt asked.

  “A fabrication,” Nagano said. “He must have made it up.”

  “It’s a rather unusual name to pull out of thin air,” Joe said. “Half Western, half Chinese.”

  “Han has been in the news lately,” Nagano said. “He was at a state dinner the other night. He’s opening a new production facility in Nagasaki this week. He’s going to be there for the signing of the new cooperation agreement between Japan and China.”

  “You’re suggesting Kashimora gave me this name because he saw Walter Han on TV.”

  “Possibly.”

  Kurt considered that and then shook his head. “I’m not buying it. A funny thing happens in moments of extreme duress: the mind reverts to its most primitive desire—survival. And considering the predicament Kashimora was in at that moment, I’d bet his only thought was to save his skin.”

  Nagano went quiet again. “Well, if you’re right, this is very bad news,” he said finally. “It means our investigation is at an end.”

  “Why?” Joe asked.

  “Han is beyond my reach,” the superintendent said. “He has dual citizenship and friends in the highest places. Between that and his money, he enjoys a type of unofficial diplomatic immunity. For me to launch an investigation would be pointless. It would be closed down by those above me and I would be reassigned to guard duty at an abandoned station in the mountains.”

  “So he’s untouchable,” Kurt said.

  Nagano looked pained but resolute. “I’m afraid so.”

  “What if Ushi-Oni rolled over on him?” Joe said. “With two different members of the Yakuza implicating Han, your superiors would be afraid not to investigate.”

  “Perhaps,” Nagano said, “but that brings us back to square one: finding Ushi-Oni. We still don’t know where to look. And, after this, he will vanish like the wind.”

  “Not if you activate your tracking network,” Joe said, “since he’s carrying one of the coins.”

  All eyes turned Joe’s way.

  “While Kurt was goofing around and playing cards, I was actually working.”

  Kurt raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, you were fighting for your life in the ring of doom. And I was rescuing you.”

  “Ah, yes,” Joe said. “But how do you think I ended up down there?”

  “Someone must have recognized you.”

  “Someone did,” Joe said. “Ushi-Oni. As much as I hate to admit it, he got the jump on me. But once I stopped him from giving me a complimentary tracheotomy, I realized he’d given me the perfect chance to tag him. So while we wrestled, I slipped the coins into his pocket. Assuming he hasn’t tossed them in a wishing well, you should have no problem following him now.”

  Kurt offered a bow of respect to his friend. “I stand corrected and duly impressed.”

  “As am I,” Nagano said.

  “We’ll help you bring him in,” Kurt offered.

  “No,” Nagano replied. “You’ve done enough already. Ushi-Oni is too dangerous, I cannot have your blood on my hands as it almost was tonight. I will bring a few of my men into it. We’ll track Ushi-Oni and take him as soon as possible.”

  “All right,” Kurt said. “You have your lead and we have ours. I hope you won’t stop us from looking into Mr. Han’s activities.”

  Nagano shook his head. “Like I said, you’ll find him in Nagasaki. He’s scheduled to speak at the opening of his facility on the waterfront the day after tomorrow. Be careful. At the very least, he’s a powerful man with friends in several nations. But if he did hire Ushi-Oni, he’s more dangerous than I would have imagined.”

  24

  OSAKA-TO-SHANGHAI FERRY, EAST CHINA SEA

  GAMAY TROUT picked her way through the narrow hall on the main deck of the Osaka-to-Shanghai ferry, squeezing past people, stacks of luggage and other items that lined the passageway. Because the journey was relatively short—and most of the passengers relatively poor—cabins were shared by multiple groups. Often six or eight people were in a room that would barely fit two on a standard Caribbean cruise ship.

  This morning, the halls were particularly crowded as passengers who might have gone for fresh air on the upper deck remained inside, courtesy of gray skies and an icy rain.

  Making it back to her cabin, she found Paul sitting at a desk that was entirely too small for him. “How’s it going?”

  Paul was hunched over a chart, plotting their position. “I’ve figured out where we are, but I was starting to wonder where you’d gotten to.”

  “I had to navigate by memory,” she said. “None of the signs are in English.”

  She handed him a cup of hot liquid.

  “Coffee?”

  “Green tea,” she replied. “It’s all they had.”

  Paul took the cup with a disappointed look on his face.

  “It’s good for you,” Gamay said.

  He nodded. “How do things look up top?”

  “No one on deck,” she told him. “Too cold and miserable to be outside.”

  “That’s one thing in our favor,” Paul said. “We’re only a few miles from the target zone, closer than I thought we’d be. We should probably wake up the Remora and make sure all systems are go.”

  “I’ll get to it.”

  Gamay settled in and turned on her laptop while Paul opened the cabin’s window. Brisk air poured in, freshening the room.

  “Who needs coffee when you have salt air?” Gamay said.

  “Me, for one,” Paul said. Standing beside the window, he removed a tightly wound bundle of cable from their luggage. With a twist of his hand, he attached a waterproof transmitter to the end and began feeding the cable through the open window. It slid down the side of the ship, drifting back with the wind until it eventually reached the sea.

  “Transmitter is in the water,” Paul said. “Let’s hope no one looks out the window and wonders what this black wire is doing on the outside of the ship.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gamay said. “As far as I can tell, every passenger on this ship has congregated in the hall. I’m ready to transmit.”

  “All clear.”

  She tapped away at the keyboard and sent a signal to the Remora, commanding it to power up. After a short delay, she was rewarded with a signal from the ROV and the appearance of a remote command screen on her computer. It looked like a video game display, with virtual controls and dials acros
s the bottom and a forward-looking camera view across the top. A bank of indicators on the right side of the screen displayed readings from the magnetometer and other sensors.

  “All systems green,” she said. “Disconnecting from the hull.”

  At the touch of a button, the electromagnets in the Remora’s hull shut off and the ROV pitched down, diving to the right and away from the ferry’s spinning propellers. Turbulent water could be seen on the screen until the Remora cleared the ship’s wake.

  “What’s the new course?” Gamay asked.

  “The target area is almost directly south of us,” Paul said, glancing at his chart. “Set a heading of one-nine-zero.”

  Gamay punched in the course, adjusted the dive angle and let the Remora do the rest. They were three miles from the target zone; it would take nearly twenty minutes to get there. “Better hope the batteries are charged.”

  Paul grinned. “First thing I checked when we picked it up at the airport.”

  With little to do as the submarine moved through the dark, Gamay began flicking through the instrument readings. Almost immediately, she noticed something odd.

  “Check this out,” she said.

  Paul leaned closer. “What am I looking at?”

  “Based on the speed setting, the Remora is traveling through the water at eleven knots. But its position marker is barely making seven. We’re fighting a current.”

  “Shouldn’t be,” Paul said, looking at his charts. “Considering our location and the time of year, the current should be in our favor, giving the Remora a push to the south.”

  “Maybe so,” she said. “But we’ve got the nautical equivalent of a four-knot headwind.”

  “That might explain why we’ve been traveling north of the shipping lane for the last four hours instead of on the south side. Anything on the bottom profile yet?”

  Gamay pressed another key. A graphic display of the seafloor beneath the Remora appeared. “Flat as a pancake.”

  “So much for my mountain range theory.”

  “We’re still a few miles from the target zone.”

  Paul shook his head. “If there was a new range growing up down there, I’d expect to see ridges and folding in the outer sedimentary layers. And we’d certainly detect a mild upslope.”