The sand below was glittering. Brandon’s eyes bugged out. ‘Am I seeing things?’ he said into the radio.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Casey.
The storm had stripped acres of seabed and where there had been sand there was now rock. The rock was covered with timber beams and flecked with gold.
‘Reece,’ called Casey. ‘How many holdalls have you got up there?’
‘How many do you need?’ came the reply.
‘Plenty.’
Brandon unslung his empty duffel bag, unzipped it and began to pick up coins and drop them in. He picked up a gold blob with a red stone in it. ‘This is intense,’ he said into the radio.
‘Good,’ said Reece.
‘I mean really fucking intense,’ he said. ‘This is, like, going to take all day.’
‘You’re going to have to winch this up, Reece,’ said Casey. ‘It’s thick down here – shame you can’t see it for yourself.’
‘Love to,’ said Reece, ‘but after that instant storm last trip I’m staying top side.’
Brandon poured a handful of coins into the bag. ‘We can swap places later. I ain’t going to be able to get all this up in one dive.’
‘What have you guys got down there?’
‘You can’t get narcosis at forty feet, can you?’ laughed Brandon, scooping another handful of coins into the bag.
‘You ain’t got narcosis,’ said Casey. ‘If you have, so’ve I. Would you look at that!’ he exclaimed, picking up an ingot the size of a Hershey bar.
‘I take it you’ve got something,’ said Reece.
‘Lordy,’ said Casey. ‘It’s the mother lode.’
‘The mother of all mother lodes,’ added Brandon.
‘That’s good news,’ said Reece. ‘When you’ve had enough, I’ll come on down.’
20
Reece looked out of the bridge window. Brandon was tying up the boat and there were three Japanese on the quayside, a smallish guy flanked by two policemen. He let out a groan. How the hell could they be there? Maybe they’d broken some local rule. Or maybe they weren’t there for them.
He turned the engine off as Brandon stepped back in. His comrade was looking at him worriedly.
Reece’s eyes said, ‘Leave this to me.’ He stepped off the boat nonchalantly and made his way to the bow as if to check something.
The little guy between the two policemen started to walk towards him. Reece undid the rope and tied it again slowly. When he looked up, they were staring at him. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Can I help you?
‘Yes,’ said the short Japanese man. ‘I am Professor Akira Nakabashi of the Imperial Archive.’ He smiled and offered his hand.
Reece noticed that he appeared to have only one arm; his training told him that the other was present but stunted.
The short man gazed into his eyes, and Reece knew he knew. He also knew that the Japanese knew he knew. ‘Thank God,’ he said, laughing.
‘Thank God?’ said Akira. He waved his hand. ‘Thank God!’
‘You speak English,’ said Reece.
Akira smiled. ‘So do you,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Reece.
‘Please continue.’
‘Thank God you’re here. We’ve made an amazing discovery.’
‘I know,’ said Akira.
‘You do?’
‘Yes,’ said Akira, ‘you just told me.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘American heroes like you must be proud.’
‘We are,’ said Reece. Had they traced the coins he’d sold? ‘How did you find us so fast?’
‘Intuition,’ said Akira.
‘Of course.’
‘Can I come aboard?’
‘Sure,’ said Reece. ‘See what we’ve got.’
Akira said something to the policemen, who walked away.
Akira smiled at Reece. ‘This is very wonderful.’
‘Yes,’ said Reece.
‘You have done us such a great service.’
Brandon and Casey didn’t look very happy.
‘This is Professor…’ Reece hesitated.
‘Nakabashi, but you can call me Akira.’
‘This is Akira-san from the Imperial Archive. I’ve told him what we’ve found.’
Brandon and Casey shook his hand. They smiled as best they could.
‘Can I see?’ asked Akira.
Brandon went to one of five heavy-looking bags and, with Casey’s help, hauled it onto the table, which appeared to groan under the weight.
‘Careful,’ said Reece. ‘It’s kind of full.’
Akira opened the zipper, fished inside and pulled out a long pencil-like piece of gold. He opened it out into a fan of golden fingers. ‘Wonderful,’ he said. He studied it closely. Then he put his hand back into the bag and pulled out a handful of coins. ‘Fourteenth century, only five known till now.’ He held out his palm. ‘Two of which you may have sold in Tokyo a few weeks ago.’ He smiled in a friendly way.
He peered at the three SEALs. ‘I watched you these two days on the satellite. I almost sent a warship to greet you, but when I knew who you were, I thought, no, I shall come to greet them personally.’ He smiled.
‘Thank you,’ said Reece.
‘You see, this coin can come from only one ship and this one ship could only have sunk within three hundred miles along this coast, and only one set of divers has dived here in all these months.’
‘I see,’ said Reece.
‘That’s cool,’ said Brandon.
Casey nodded.
‘There will be much more like this to be recovered,’ said Akira.
‘You bet,’ said Brandon.
‘And I should think,’ said Akira, ‘that you will be handsomely rewarded.’ He smiled.
They smiled back.
‘That’s great,’ said Reece, sighing with relief inside.
‘But,’ continued Akira, ‘I have to ask you a question.’
‘Sure,’ said Reece, stiffening.
‘All this treasure is wonderful and I am overjoyed that it is recovered but more important by far – by far – is the whereabouts of a box.’
‘Box?’ said Reece.
‘A gold box, about a metre wide.’
Brandon looked at Casey, who stared at his feet.
‘A box? What about a box?’ asked Reece.
‘It has the picture of the sun rising over the shore and it is a very, very precious thing. Have you found it?’
Reece looked into Akira’s eyes. Akira looked back into him.
‘Yes,’ said Reece, as it dawned on him. The gold slab wasn’t a slab at all: it was a box. ‘Yes, we found it.’
‘Is it here?’ asked Akira.
‘No.’
‘Where is it?’
Reece sagged a little.
Akira grabbed his shoulder with his good hand. ‘As long as it is returned to the Emperor, you have nothing whatsoever to fear. Tell me everything and you will simply be thanked. It is almost miracle enough that it is recovered.’
‘We’ve sent it to London.’
‘Do not fear,’ said Akira, his face blank. ‘I will get it back.’ He flexed the fingers of his short hand. ‘But you must understand that if you do not help me correctly, the terrible things that will befall you will be not as bad as that which will befall me.’
Reece looked into Akira’s eyes again. The guy was serious. Whatever they had found was deadly important. He had seen that serious intent before when their missions had held a large slice of suicide attached to them. Absolutely nothing was more important to this Japanese than the slab – the box – not even his own life. ‘You can trust me and what I’ve told you,’ said Reece.
Akira bowed in acknowledgement.
21
The doorbell rang. Stafford took a quick look at his iPhone. ‘Good Lord,’ he muttered.
‘What is it?’ asked Jim.
‘Davas –’ He corrected himself: ‘Mr Davas, sir. He’s at the door.’
‘Yo
u have the doorbell on your iPhone?’
‘Approximately,’ said Stafford, exiting.
He was letting Davas in as Jim walked into the hallway. ‘Max!’
‘Jim!’
Jim hugged him, rather to Davas’s surprise. ‘It’s great to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you too.’
‘You’ve come to see the box,’ said Stafford. It wasn’t a question, more a redundant observation.
‘Yes,’ said Davas. ‘And Jim, of course.’
Stafford cleared his throat. ‘Of course.’
‘Come through,’ said Jim. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘He knows that already,’ said Stafford.
Davas glared at him, his lips puckered as though he was sucking a lemon.
They went to the weathered old table on which the box lay.
‘Did I do well?’ asked Jim, as Davas inspected it.
Davas took a deep breath. He looked at Jim as if he was some kind of gifted idiot.
‘What?’ said Jim.
‘Have you got a cloth, Stafford?’
‘Sir.’
‘Could you bring it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you bring it?’
‘In a moment.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is it a Kyoto puzzle box?’ asked Stafford.
Davas looked at Stafford. ‘You know better than I do. Have you tried to open it?’
Stafford didn’t reply.
‘Have you?’ Davas pressed.
Stafford stretched his neck a little. ‘It would have been hard to resist.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Davas.
Jim was staring at the two old men with irritation. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘A cloth, please, Stafford.’
‘Certainly.’ The butler left the room.
‘This isn’t a solid slab, Jim, it’s a Kyoto puzzle box.’
‘A box?’
‘Yes.’
‘A box of what?’
Davas gave a small smile that spread across his face. ‘We will see.’
‘Did I make a good buy?’
‘Yes,’ said Davas. ‘There are no known Kyoto puzzle boxes in private hands. There is one in the British Museum, of course, then two in the Japanese Imperial Collection. This is the only one of four known. However, whatever the value of the box, any contents will be worth ten times more – perhaps a thousand times.’
‘What’s a puzzle box worth without anything in it?’
‘Five million, perhaps ten million dollars.’
Jim felt a wave of satisfaction flush through him. He had known the slab – the box – was a treasure just as he knew when stocks would move. Instinct had told the truth again. ‘Ten million empty. I wonder what’s inside.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Stafford, returning with a hand towel and a tea towel over his arm.
Davas took the tea towel and laid it over the lid. He placed a finger over the whale in the bay and pushed down hard with his thumb. ‘I don’t want to damage the box,’ he said.
‘I tried that,’ said Stafford.
Davas put his palm on the rising sun and pushed down again, then twisted. Nothing happened.
‘I tried that too.’
Davas picked up the box and examined the edges.
‘I couldn’t see anything,’ said Stafford. He handed Davas a device. ‘I couldn’t see any joints with my eye, a magnifying glass or this.’
Davas took the little pen-shaped device and pressed the button on its barrel. He ran it around the edges of the box. His face remained empty of discovery. He laid the slab flat and swept the red beam across the face. He looked at Stafford. ‘I take it you tried that too.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Let me have a go,’ said Jim.
Davas held up his wrinkled hands. ‘Of course.’
Jim put his left hand on the golden sun. He pressed on it.
‘I tried that,’ said Davas.
‘I know,’ said Jim, pressing firmly.
Stafford looked on impassively. If he hadn’t found the catch to the Kyoto box, it simply wasn’t a puzzle box.
Jim applied a little twist to his pressure. There was a hiss. The sun sank into the box and turned. Two lugs at the front flicked out.
‘Wait!’ cried Davas.
Jim lifted his hand off the sun and spun the circle as if to unscrew it. It clicked and lifted out. He tried to lift the lid by the lugs.
‘No!’ cried Davas. ‘Don’t! Stop!’
Jim pushed the lugs in and two lugs at the back popped out. The lid lifted a little and Jim began to slide it off.
Davas barged him violently and Jim skidded away from the table.
‘What did you do that for?’ he panted.
‘These things can be sabotaged, booby-trapped.’
‘Right,’ said Jim, going back to the box. ‘But not this one.’
‘At least stand to one side of it,’ said Davas, still hanging back.
‘OK,’ said Jim, and moved to the left of the box. He lifted the lid. Inside, there was a dark red burgundy mass. Nothing shot out; nothing exploded.
They peered in.
‘What is it?’ wondered Jim.
‘Beeswax,’ said Stafford. ‘It’s used to pack something precious so it won’t rattle around.’
Around what appeared to be the locking mechanism there was a circle, to the right of it a square, and a long thin rectangle at the bottom of the box. Stafford touched the ancient wax surface of the square. It was fixed solidly to the inside of the box. He took out a pocket knife, put the blade into the corner of the square-shaped mass and tried to push the blade into it. The wax was hard, like the grout between two bricks.
‘Let me have a go,’ said Jim. He pushed his two thumbs into the corner. There was a cracking sound. The cube of wax sank in at one end and popped out at the other. Jim prised it free.
Davas was still standing back, his arms folded.
Jim twisted the wax block as if it was a loaf of bread. It shattered. Within, there was a tearing of paper. Then he saw a flash of emerald and gold. He pulled out a green necklace. ‘Wow.’ He held it up. It was a string of deep green stone fingers, like a Native American necklace of bear claws. It was held together with a gold chain woven with highly detailed floral patterns. He opened the necklace and went to put it on.
‘Don’t do that,’ said Davas.
Jim put it on. ‘What do you think?’
‘Very regal,’ said Stafford.
Davas shrugged.
Jim turned back to the box. He pressed down on the circle of wax and heard another dry crack. He pushed and prodded the area until the circular wax cake popped out.
Davas and Stafford craned their necks and stood almost on tiptoe to watch him. Jim broke open the wax and unwrapped a mirror, with a knob in the form of a flower bud on the reverse. He looked at himself in the polished silver face: he saw a blurred distorted image of himself, but he looked kind of handsome and heroic in a cartoony smudgy way. Behind him, Stafford and Davas looked like two awed schoolkids with some visiting dignitary. He laughed. ‘Nice mirror,’ he said, and laid it on the towel. Davas picked it up.
Jim put a thumb at each end of the oblong and pressed hard; the block flipped up and out and almost fell out of the box. Jim caught it. He twisted the wax block, which broke, paper tearing beneath.
Davas put the mirror back on the towel. ‘Dear God,’ he said, as Jim pulled a Japanese sword from its crumbling wrapping.
‘Kusanagi,’ said Stafford.
‘What?’ said Jim, removing the sword from its plain but beautiful scabbard. He held the blade up to the failing light from the window. The sky was leaden and a wind was blowing down the Thames. A funny bleached light highlighted the object, giving it a strange thick outline. He grinned, experiencing a flash of aggression. ‘Cool,’ he said. ‘What a cool thing.’ He turned to Davas and Stafford, held up the scabbard and slid the flashing blade back into it. ‘What do you thin
k they’re worth altogether?’ He put the sword down.
Davas and Stafford sagged. ‘Can we sit down?’ said Davas, motioning to the two sofas by the window.
‘Let me get some drinks,’ said Stafford.
‘Brandy,’ muttered Davas, weakly.
‘The Napoleon,’ said Stafford, stumbling away.
‘What’s up?’ Jim had finally registered their confusion.
‘Let’s sit down, Jim,’ said Davas.
22
Outside, giant grey clouds had opened and rain was pelting down. Jim held the mirror and studied it intently. The mottled surface certainly improved his looks: it seemed to elongate his face and warp out his jaw to make it look chiselled. ‘This is very cool,’ he said, rolling it around in his hand. As well as the flower-bud handle, there were engravings of foliage across the back. ‘Amazing,’ he said. ‘The design here is incredibly complicated.’
He caught sight of Davas in the mirror. He looked younger in the distorted surface and happier than usual.
Davas leant over and lifted the necklace over Jim’s head. ‘Priceless,’ he said.
‘Is it jade?’ asked Jim.
‘The most perfect jade I’ve ever seen,’ said Davas. ‘Yasakani no Magatama.’
‘Is that a kind of Japanese jade?’ said Jim.
‘No,’ said Davas. ‘Yasakani no Magatama is the Jewel of the Japanese Imperial Regalia.’
‘Is this like that?’
‘No,’ said Davas. ‘This is Yasakani no Magatama.’ Set against the greyness of the view from the window, the green shone with a glowing depth as if it had an internal light.
Jim looked at Davas as if he was talking nonsense. ‘What?’
‘This is the Yasakani no Magatama. And that mirror you are holding is the Yata no Kagami.’
‘And this?’ said Jim.
Stafford entered, carrying a tray with three glasses and an ancient bottle of cognac. ‘The sword Kusanagi,’ he said.
‘I think so,’ said Davas.
Jim laughed. ‘Come on, guys, what the hell are you on about?’ He caught a glimpse of Stafford in the mirror. In the eccentric field of the polished silver, he looked younger, slimmer and very military.
Kusanagi Page 8
