Kusanagi

by Clem Chambers

  ‘That bloody professor. “I know I tried to chop your head off a couple of days ago, but this time it wasn’t me.”’

  The door buzzer went, and simultaneously Jane’s BlackBerry, face down, skipped across the table.

  ‘Who the fuck’s that?’ exclaimed Jim, spinning around as Jane snatched up her phone. ‘He’s not back again, is he?’

  ‘It’s Superintendent Smith,’ called Stafford.

  ‘What ho!’ Smith greeted him – with an edge of sarcasm, it seemed to Jim.

  ‘Do come in, Inspector.’ Stafford gave as good as he got.

  Jim’s mood lifted. ‘John,’ he said, going into the hall. He shook his friend’s hand.

  ‘How’s the head?’

  ‘OK,’ said Jim. ‘Hurts like crazy but it’s OK.’

  Jane got up from Jim’s computer. ‘Hey, John, what’s the story on the NKs?’

  ‘Koreans!’ He shrugged. ‘A likely story.’

  ‘We thought you might have made it up,’ said Jim, sitting down on the sofa.

  ‘Not me.’ He turned to Jim. ‘Who was that at your door just now?’

  ‘John,’ intercepted Jane, ‘can we do without the interrogation?’

  ‘Not for much longer,’ he replied.

  ‘Where did the story about the Koreans come from?’ asked Jim.

  Smith closed his eyes. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘this is all wrong. I’m meant to be making the enquiries here.’

  ‘Come on, John, you know I’m going to find out as soon as the west coast wakes up.’

  ‘Is this some kind of DIA operation?’ said Smith, propping himself on the edge of the ancient table.

  ‘Just help me here,’ said Jane. ‘I’ll fill you in as soon as I can.’

  Smith looked down at her thoughtfully. ‘All right, but you’re getting nothing further from me until then. Japanese intelligence told us it was North Koreans.’

  ‘And?’ prompted Jane.

  ‘Well, let’s just say we aren’t exactly in regular communications with the Japanese on this kind of matter, so we took what they said at face value. It’s a convenient story for everyone.’

  ‘But you don’t believe it.’

  ‘I associate heavily tattooed Orientals with the Yakuza,’ said Smith. ‘There you are. Now I’ve broken my own agreement to say no more.’

  ‘The Japanese Mafia,’ put in Jim.

  ‘Yes,’ said Smith, ‘and all very fishy if you ask me – or should I say all very sashimi? Who was your visitor?’

  ‘Can’t say,’ said Jane.

  ‘Look,’ said Smith, getting off his perch, ‘this is not on. I could just throw you all into a cell and then you’d have to spill the beans.’

  ‘That won’t work,’ said Jane. ‘My leave ends on Friday and I have to be back in Virginia.’

  Smith looked sourly at her. ‘Isn’t abuse of friendship a felony in your country?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s a misdemeanour.’

  Smith turned to Jim. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, mate,’ he said. ‘I can’t help you if you won’t let me in. I mean, don’t get tangled up with the DIA – they’ll eat you up and spit you out.’ He gave Jane a penetrating look.

  She responded with a pointed glare. ‘We’re not so bad,’ she said.

  As Smith talked, Jim was thinking about the asking price for the regalia. The Japanese had tacitly agreed to pay a hundred billion dollars for them. Something burst in his head, with a crack like exploding bubble wrap. He realised he was being a complete idiot. His, Jane and Smith’s lives were simply not worth a fraction of a hundred billion dollars. A hundred billion was more than the GDP of Libya. Thousands of lives could be blotted out with a hundred billion dollars – and there he was, taunting the world with it. He had got himself into a high stakes game he didn’t know how to play and all their lives were in the pot. They would all be sacrificed without hesitation to the winning of that prize.

  ‘Thanks, John’ said Jim, holding down the emotions that were rising inside him. ‘It’ll all turn out OK. Once it’s done and dusted I’ll tell you about it over a beer.’

  ‘I’ll let myself out,’ said Smith, gruffly.

  Jim was staring out onto the river, watching the water run downstream towards the sea.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Jane.

  ‘I’m going to give them back,’ he said. ‘Screw the money.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Jane. ‘Let’s not do anything too quickly. We’ve got to go over all the options. We can’t afford to do anything dumb.’

  ‘I’ll just ring up the professor and hand them over to him.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Jane, ‘but don’t do it right this second. Let’s think it over properly first. We have to get this right.’

  ‘These attacks aren’t about the professor,’ said Jim. ‘I believe him. What would a history professor have to do with killers?’

  Jane nodded. ‘Nakabashi is Japanese government, right? They wouldn’t use Yakuza muscle. That’s coming from somewhere else.’

  ‘This is just an almighty fuck up,’ said Jim.

  Jane nodded. ‘Yep, and it’s getting messy – fast. The configuration is looking bad.’

  ‘This gear is like plutonium,’ said Jim, almost to himself. ‘It’s toxic. We’re in some kind of death spiral, I can feel it. It’s like when the market crashes – suddenly things take on a life of their own and you can’t fight it.’

  ‘Sometimes you’ve got to just drop the ball and high tail it out of trouble, but you never do it without thinking it through,’ said Jane. ‘Let’s make sure we don’t land ourselves in deeper shit by handing the stuff over too fast. We’ll do some planning.’

  40

  Stafford looked askance. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jim. ‘It’s the simplest solution.’

  Stafford glanced at Jane, then back at him. ‘Very well.’

  ‘Where did you put them?’

  ‘I pawned them,’ said Stafford. ‘It seemed the only solution in the circumstances.’

  Jim gasped. ‘Pawned them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Jane. ‘What did you get for them?’

  ‘Do you really wish to know?’

  ‘You can get them back, can’t you?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that!’

  ‘Are you certain you want to do this?’ said Stafford, disappointment in his face.

  ‘Yes. It’s just too dangerous. I think we’re all hanging by a thread,’ said Jim. ‘I’m going to call the professor and tell him to pick them up tomorrow. Then we’ll be shot of the whole mess. After that Jane and I are going to fly to Washington Dulles, so I can see her off.’

  Stafford nodded, with an element of reluctant agreement. ‘I’ll collect the items first thing tomorrow morning.’

  Jim felt a welling sense of relief. He could tell he was making the right decision by his sudden mood change. Cutting a trading loss early felt like that: the relief was based on the understanding of the bad things the future would hold if you held on. Deep down, he knew he had to give the regalia back unconditionally.

  41

  ‘Muschi, muschi,’ said Akira, answering his phone. ‘Ah, Evans-san. Good to hear from you.’ Why was the man calling him so soon after they had last spoken? Had something else happened? Something terrible?

  ‘Professor, I’ve got some good news.’

  ‘Good news?’ repeated Akira, a wave of confusion sweeping over him. Had Evans-san given the regalia to the British Museum? Or, indeed, thrown it into the sea?

  ‘You can come and get the jewels tomorrow morning. Just come round the house and pick them up.’

  ‘Say again, please.’

  ‘You can come and get your treasures tomorrow. I’m giving them to you.’

  Akira leaped up from his chair. ‘You are giving them up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Akira wanted to ask why, but he didn’t. He
tried to imagine what Jim was thinking that he could hand them over for nothing. Anxieties raced through his mind. What was he going to do with them once he had them? He had planned to take them to the embassy but now, with killers on the loose, that wasn’t a simple matter.

  ‘Hello,’ said Jim. ‘Are you still there?’

  Akira snapped out of his shock. ‘Yes, yes.’ He felt a little weak and sat down again. ‘Evans-san, what time shall I call on you?’

  ‘Eleven o’clock should be fine.’

  ‘Thank you so very much.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Jim, and hung up.

  ‘What a crazy trade,’ he said, grimacing. ‘All this excitement and bugger all to show for it.’

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ said Jane, giving him a hug from behind. ‘You’ve got a groovy duelling scar out of it.’

  ‘You’re right. I’ve always wanted one on my head to add to the collection.’

  42

  ‘Hi,’ said Akira, meaning yes. ‘Tomorrow morning I plan to pick up the regalia.’ He nodded to the caller far away in Tokyo. ‘Hi, there is no further payment involved. Hi, Evans-san will give me all three objects.’ He was standing to attention in his small, tired hotel bedroom. ‘I will need a guard to transfer them to the embassy.’ He was nodding. ‘Twenty people seems more than adequate. Will they be armed?’ He was listening intently. ‘May I suggest that only legitimately armed guards be used? We should avoid embarrassment.’ He groaned. ‘Only three armed attachés available?… I see. Would enlisting British help be too difficult?… I see. I appreciate you will do all you can to help me.’

  His face was locked in a mask of pain. Tokyo could not act fast enough. They could not ask for help: they did not have the right people in London and he had to act in the morning.

  He stiffened himself. All he had to do was pick up the regalia in the presence of three armed guards and get it five miles to the embassy. It was a stressful prospect but it would surely end well.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, to the compliments from Tokyo. ‘Goodbye.’

  43

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Stafford, back in his official cover role as butler.

  ‘Yes?’ said Jim, turning away from his computer. Jane looked up from her book on Burma.

  ‘Professor Nakabashi just walked past our front door.’ Stafford looked down at his iPhone. ‘There he is again.’

  Jim got up and stared at the screen. Akira’s form was disappearing up the road. ‘I’ll go and see what he’s up to.’

  The fence was made of plywood and painted blue. Akira could see through the cracks onto the construction site beyond. From the evidence of rigs poking out above the barrier, excavation was going on and he could see snatches of it. He paid attention to the details: the street and the alleyways that led off it.

  He turned the corner and jumped. Evans-san was looking at him quizzically. ‘Oh,’ he said, bowing. ‘You surprised me.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ said Jim, as genially as he could.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Akira, ‘very good question.’ He squinted hard at Jim. ‘I am learning the lie of the land. Tomorrow I can’t leave anything to chance. I am walking the route between your house and the embassy.’ He held up his phone. ‘I am taking notes and photographs. I want to leave nothing to fortune.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jim. ‘Good thinking.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Akira. ‘I am a little frightened, I must admit. What happened to you could happen to me.’ He smiled nervously. ‘I’m not big and strong like you.’ He clenched the fist of his short hand. ‘I only have this arm to fight back with,’ he said, swinging the blow five inches by pushing out his shoulder. He immediately regretted his joke.

  Jim was smiling. ‘Sorry to bug you,’ he said. ‘I’m a bit wound up right now.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Akira. ‘I am likewise wound up.’

  Jane was walking towards them, ‘Hi there, guys, what’s up?’

  ‘The professor’s casing the area for tomorrow’s pick-up,’ Jim told her.

  Akira bowed to her.

  ‘Good job,’ said Jane. ‘Why don’t we all do dinner tonight?’

  They looked at her as if she had said something either really clever or really dumb.

  ‘I’m getting bummed out being cooped up day and night,’ she said.

  ‘OK,’ said Jim. ‘I’m up for it.’

  What would they do if he refused? wondered Akira. Would it be a big insult? Would they change their minds about giving up the regalia? What would happen if it all went terribly wrong? Would they be safe? Would he be safe? Were the regalia safe?

  ‘How about you, Akira-san?’ said Jane.

  The woman Jane was excessively forceful, even for an American, but she sent an exciting shiver down his spine. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Please allow me to entertain you tonight.’

  The trees of Green Park and the traffic of Piccadilly are all that separates the Japanese Embassy from Buckingham Palace. Half Moon Street is around the corner, and partway down there is a Japanese restaurant called Kiku. Quality and proximity to the embassy means it is very popular – and Akira decided it would accomplish two purposes: it was a place to eat, and going there would offer him a chance to check out the area directly around the embassy before dinner.

  He had arranged to meet Jim and Jane there at seven and had then carried on his research, finally walking the whole way back to the embassy along his chosen route of the next day’s vital mission.

  London would be so much nicer, he was sure, if only it was cared for a little better. Nothing was quite finished. The pavements were never properly flat. The trees were badly pruned and often vandalised, the grilles around their trunks not perfectly set. Chewing gum was left stuck to the paving. There was graffiti and, like any backward country, litter. London was scruffy.

  It amazed him that no one saw the benefit of just a little more diligence and attention. London could shine like a jewel, such as Kyoto. Instead it was dog-eared and splattered with besmirching corrosion. He didn’t understand why.

  44

  Jane was poking the razor clam with her chopsticks. It seemed to be curling up in response. ‘This is real fresh,’ she noted.

  Akira nodded. ‘Do you like it?’

  Jane was chewing. ‘Very good,’ she said, a few moments later.

  A waitress put down three lidded porcelain mugs set in wicker baskets. A glazed cartoon creature adorned the lids, a smiling ball shaped fish. It looked a little like a very fat whale.

  The waitress took out a matchbox and struck a match. She took the top off Akira’s mug and ignited the liquid, which quickly sputtered out. Some black and grey flakes were floating in the clear liquid below.

  ‘Fugu sake,’ said Akira, happily.

  Now she lit Jim’s drink – there was a puff of blue flame.

  Jane smiled. Europeans served women first, but with Asians men took priority. Americans had lost the gender plot almost entirely. ‘Tincture of neurotoxin,’ she said, saluting. ‘Exciting.’

  ‘Campai,’ said Akira.

  ‘What is this?’ said Jim, clinking his cup with Jane and Akira.

  ‘Fugu,’ said Akira. ‘Puffer fish fins in hot sake.’

  ‘Lethal puffer fish fins in hot alcohol,’ said Jane, and sipped.

  ‘Right,’ said Jim, adjusting his bandage. The liquid was bitter and heady, the fascinating solvent like fumes of the sake mixing with the bitter but intangible kick of the fins with their magic neurotoxin.

  ‘A bit of liver from this fish and you drop dead on the spot.’ said Jane. ‘That flavour is a tiny trace of one of the world’s most powerful poisons shooting up the nerve ends in your tongue to your brain.’

  ‘Not so much poison, I’m sure,’ said Akira, ‘though accidents do happen, but not with the fins.’

  ‘Tastes great, doesn’t it?’ said Jane.

  Jim was trying to notice the effects of the potentially lethal toxins in his mouth. It just tasted pleasantly harsh to
him, rather like a big sniff of spray glue. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, gesturing at a pile of orange stuff wrapped in a black papery substance.

  ‘Sea urchin egg,’ said Akira. ‘Very good.’

  Jim picked it up with his chopsticks and got it into his mouth rather inelegantly. He nodded in appreciation. He wanted to say, ‘It tastes very eggy,’ but if he had he would have likely sprayed the professor with it.

  He washed it down with his toxic fish fin toddy. ‘How would I know if I’d been poisoned?’

  ‘You get paralysed,’ said Jane.

  ‘So, so, so,’ said Akira.

  ‘You suffocate,’ she said. ‘You’re wide awake but you can’t breathe. ‘It’s like about ten people a year die from fugu in Japan - right Professor?’

  Akira nodded. ‘Very little chance of dying from eating fugu.’

  ‘More people die from bowing accidents in Japan than from eating blowfish.’

  ‘You know a lot about Japan, Jane-san.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jane. ‘I wish.’

  ‘Die from bowing?’ said Jim, wondering whether the puffer fish poison had got into his ears.

  ‘Bashing your head when you do it,’ said Jane, ‘or getting it trapped in a train door – you know the kind of thing. Enough people doing anything is going to result in fatalities. Tens of thousands of people die every year just getting in and out of the bath.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ said Jim. ‘I’m sticking to the shower from now on.’

  ‘What do you think?’ said Jim, as soon as the cab pulled away.

  ‘He’s legit,’ said Jane. ‘He’s quirky but no gangster.’

  ‘Did you notice that every time we put him on the spot, his funny hand would start flexing or making a fist or something?’

  ‘No,’ said Jane. ‘Really?’

  ‘His face is, like, pretty much blank all the time, and his funny hand does all the talking.’

  Jane scowled. ‘I totally missed that.’

  ‘I could be wrong,’ said Jim.

  ‘What did it tell you?’

  ‘He’s totally terrified. His hand was, like, screaming in panic every time we mentioned anything to do with the regalia.’