"Would you care for some tea?"
"In this present form?"
Negochi cursed.
"To business, professor. Perhaps later, if and when we learn to trust each other, will we share our salt."
"A curious phrase."
"Professor..."
Well then, business first."
"What is it that you want?"
"Safe harbor from enemies."
"What do you consider a safe harbor?"
"Distance and privacy."
"How much distance? How much privacy?"
"Enough to guarantee the safety of family and friends."
"Professor, you are the sole owner of a property known as Z-298, an abandoned weather station off the coast of Kyoto, lying approximately a hundred and forty-seven miles north, by northwest. Is it still uninhabited? When you changed your mind years ago and pulled it from the auction block, did you leave it unchanged?"
There was quiet assent.
"Professor, why did you take it off the block after having offered it in the first place?"
Negochi shrugged indifferently. “Bids came from crackpots, organized crime, and a number of untrustworthy military-industrial firms. At one point, it became a farce. I was spending more time trying to assess the damage from the reward."
"There is an underground facility?"
"It was built to withstand typhoons."
"Approximately forty thousand square feet across, by one hundred and seventy feet down, with elevators, vents, stairwells, and serviceable rigs above and throughout the installation, with stanchions sunken in concrete pillars drilled with shafts in the bedrock below the coral belt?"
The professor's heart raced. “Your information is amazingly correct. What of it?"
"For services rendered, that would be my price."
"I have no need of it. Take it."
"I also require a corporation, and the head of a corporation, and a staff to run it."
"Run what?"
"A project of mine."
"What is this project?"
"Building an impenetrable fortress."
Professor Omi Negochi blinked. “Well, I don't know what you would want it for, but that's going to take an awful lot of money."
"I know."
"The island is mostly atoll. Establish a legal shoreline and sea area limit, and then put up a hut. That way you could use it as a tax shelter or even a business loss. You don't need a fortress."
"Professor, professor, you shouldn't think harsh insults about strangers newly met. Tax shelters? Business losses? Really. What I want is a fortress, that's all. A simple place to lay my head down and not worry about trespassers."
"A fortress."
"Nothing could be simpler."
"Off Kyoto."
"I've been there. Pleasant surroundings. Peaceful folk. A slow and studied mind-set, comforting to one such as I."
"I see."
"If you agree, certain sums will be sent to you periodically in the name of a corporation, where during my absence, you will head. Instructions will follow how I want it built. Do you agree?"
"That is asking a lot."
"You and those you trust will be involved in a work that transcends anything you or anyone else has ever done, or will ever do in the future ... if you live that long."
"I would have to think about this."
"You have one minute."
"I thought this was important to you?"
"There are other similar properties, other similar people in desperate situations. What is it you people say? A smorgasbord? Yes. A table filled with a variety of food. Your minute is half over."
"I have discovered that a clique of the Yakuza, the Black Dragons, have successfully infiltrated our corporation. I'm not sure what to do."
"Do you agree to our terms?"
The professor took a deep breath. “I have no choice."
"Yes or no?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now I am aware of your difficulties. Unfortunately, your lives are in danger, and once the bloodletting starts, it won't stop until everyone involved has died. You will be made an example. Do you understand?"
"I do."
"Your history proves the pattern. Witnesses eliminated. Helpless victims destroyed. I applaud your wisdom in seeking me out."
"Seeking you out?"
"You did cry in the wilderness, did you not?"
The professor chuckled dryly. “I suppose I did."
"You have two choices. The first would be simple. I prefer it myself. The second harder, and more difficult to attain. I hesitate to offer it."
"What is the first?"
"I kill them all."
The professor shuddered. “No. I can't allow that."
Silence.
Then he asked, “What is the alternative?"
"I will attempt to change their minds."
"Can you do such a thing?"
"I will attempt it."
"And if you don't succeed?"
"I will kill them all."
"May I insist that no innocents are involved?"
"You can insist, but it is the circumstance that commands, not the intention. If I can avoid it, I will. If I can't, I won't. Is that understood?"
The professor looked down and didn't know what to say. He didn't sense evil in this person's intentions ... but then how could he? He didn't know what he was dealing with here.
"I understand."
"Before I leave..."
"Yes?” said a defeated Omi Negochi.
"I would like to hear how you created The Stem."
Negochi turned bright red with embarrassment. The Stem was a poem he'd written some fifty years before, when he realized the world was like a flower that needed constant tending. His haiku won a prize.
"The Stem is the blood of the earth made pure in mind."
"Go on."
He cleared his throat and explained how he came to think of it, what drove such thoughts, and how they applied then, as well as today ... and when he finished, there was a silence, and the shadow had dissipated in thin air.
"I will inform you when it is done."
* * * *
For five miserable nights of downpour, Regis lived in an alleyway behind one of Japan's most prestigious nightspots, in particular, the one owned by Omura, confidant and logistician to the Black Dragon clan.
Moreover, of those five nights, Omura, who kept a secured penthouse at the top of the club, slept badly.
He was suffering an attack of nightmares, and it troubled him greatly. He was a logistician, not a field man. So why were his dreams filled with death and destruction? He was a man of peace, of tranquility, of repose, as befitted his Buddhist training. It all made little sense.
Until, that is, the evening of the sixth day. The Black Dragons council summoned him to an urgent meeting. His chauffeur drove into the underground lot of their headquarters, and wondering what was wrong, he ran his pass card through the security slot. The elevator door opened ... and two men with drawn swords cut him down!
There was a ringing and he awoke in sweat-soaked sheets. He picked up the phone and his eyes widened. An urgent meeting had been called.
His chauffeur drove into the underground lot, when Omura realized what was happening, and directing his chauffeur around, they drove out again and to the front entrance. He gave no reasons why.
They cleared him at the security desk, and checking the elevator first, he then took it to the twenty-fifth floor, where he was scanned by two apologetic guards for hidden weapons.
He walked down the corridor, turned to look over his shoulder, and found the well-dressed guards scanning someone else. He sighed with relief. It was, he tried to convince himself, just a dream.
Once in the council chambers, he took his place on the board and awaited proceedings. He still didn't know what this was about.
When his patron sat at the head of the table, they began. He listened with grave attention, and then his ears sharpened at a fa
miliar name.
Were they ... were they actually talking about eliminating—he edged slowly back. He had heard that name in his nightmares! Then a question was put to him, and struggling to maintain calm, he turned his attention back to business, and in a flash he saw its significance.
If it was answered the way it was expected ... he became a “yes” man. However, if he did his job properly, he might not leave the building alive.
Weighing his words, keeping balance with the forces around him, he prayed for guidance ... and opposed the motions. Inichi himself, Lord of the Black Dragon sect, looked at him curiously.
Everyone else shifted. Omura felt a sudden coolness enter the room. His lord asked if there had been something they overlooked? Wasn't the other aware of the danger this professor offered? An example had to be established if their will would be felt.
Natasai Omura, once trained for the priesthood, slowly shook his head. No, he replied softly, as far as he could see, nothing had been overlooked ... if the object of such an exercise was murder.
His colleagues looked around, confused. What a strange word to use. Was he taking leave of his senses?
"Tell me, my little general,” asked Inichi, coldly. “Is what we do here now regarded as some obsolete exercise? Are you sure you would survive were we to set aside the way we do business?"
Omura began carefully, aware of the peril. “First, we've grown much since the late 50's. I base that growth on extraordinary luck. We mustn't lose its significance. So far, our opponents were largely of the criminal class, comprised of corrupt officials, gangs promoting chaos in the street and the marketplace, and what we did then was acceptable. But now you propose to kill a scientist? To kill a man merely to make a point?"
He looked at his colleagues as if he thought them mad. “Have we forgotten where our power, where our influence springs from? Do we say to the common people, for whom we were always looked to for support, that now we are no better than thugs in alleyways? No better than a government, which feeds upon the innocent? That what we supply, when no one else will, is now bought at the cost of valuable lives? Have we forgotten what it is, and what it means to uphold, the concept of a free, open, and common market?"
He stared at them for a long time before shaking his head. “Would you destroy us over a single man's pride in his own accomplishments? When his accomplishments could have been our own, mirrored in what we've managed? I ask you, my friends, to think. Think how it would look. Do we shatter the mirror because we don't like what we see?
"There's nothing wrong with the mirror. It is we who have changed so much that we have forgotten the purpose for which we were created. We have forgotten “why” we are, not “what” we are. My friends, we should not forget what it took to survive one disaster after another. We should not forget the strength of the human spirit, or what can be accomplished with it.
"Rethink this matter to its inevitable conclusion. We hear of disasters happening all around the world, and outside our small world, we are powerless to change their course. But here ... here stands a man of worth who dreams of hope, and pride, and of what we can do as a nation. He is the kind of man who has what it takes to stand the test of time. What he does not do, those who he teaches, will do. Those who follow will have a map of where they are going. Should we oppose that? Shouldn't we instead, draw our swords and protect the innocent as if we were shields? Can we not reward courage and optimism and truth? I say, not only can we do this, now is the time to declare that we must."
Exhausted, he sat back in his chair and reached for a cup of sake. This was the greatest gamble of his life. If he failed ... there was that dream.
One by one the twenty who had sat patiently listening cast into their minds for an answer to the questions raised. Had they really supported a free market? If so, what was their image? Might it suffer? Could it suffer?
Opinions flew around the table. One newcomer from the outlying districts said loudly that he didn't care what their image was. He wasn't a criminal for the fun of it. He had a family. He had bills to pay just like everyone. He paused, realizing the shoe was on the other foot. So, he shut his mouth.
The roundtable discussions increased in fervor. Advisors were called in and apprised of the issues. They requested further information. Communication lines opened, phones were brought in, and throughout the day and most of the night arguments rose like the heat.. Windows were opened, then closed. Air conditioning was turned on, then turned off. Tempers rose, then dropped. They became hopeless and mired in confusion.
Then surprisingly, an image did emerge, took shape ... and for the most part, they found that common people thought the feared and terrible Black Dragon clan ... weren't just a bunch of criminals. Weren't just a bunch of power-fixated corporate bodies. The Black Dragon clan was necessary when the government took more of their meager savings. They were necessary to even the balance of power.
A number of their associates were noted for approaching corrupt officials with threats, bribery, and coercion, holding them at bay until more reasonable accommodations could be made. In some quarters, Black Dragon people were thought of as heroes.
Over the years, their people had become, in the eyes of a large portion of the populace, a refuge against a greater evil.
It was an epiphany that cut deep, coming as it did in the early morning hours. Inichi, a man in his early sixties, still virile, intelligent and ruthless, turned tired, angry eyes toward the members, and it was easy to see he was not pleased.
"Will someone care to explain how we almost trod in this quicksand without a single warning? Will someone—anyone—explain why no one else foresaw what would have developed into a public relations disaster?"
There were no ready answers, but then it wasn't necessary. An answer of a different kind was forthcoming.
"Well,” he said grimly, dragging their attention back from such useless introspection. “If no one else knows, I do. Don't bother hurting yourself thinking up excuses."
People looked down with embarrassment.
"It's because the sharper our swords became, the more careful we should have become. We are a power to reckon with. But we've become greedy, thoughtless ... I, as well as the rest of you. Had it not been for our Buddhist here, we would have overlooked much. We would have failed ourselves as well as our clan."
Stunned, they looked at one another, some denying, others accepting what it meant. A loss of face.
"Natasai, you will take our compliments to our section in the Sen district and advise them we will not tolerate interference with Professor Omi Negochi's affairs, be they personal or otherwise,” commanded Inichi.
Omura jerked with a nod. “Hai!"
"Moreover, if there are reprisals for his stubborn attitude, tell them in my name, that those who do so will be removed. I want it understood that from now on the professor is not to be annoyed. In our eyes, he is a national treasure and will be protected. Make absolutely certain they understand."
"I will make certain they understand!” Omura bowed and swore that upon his life, this business would be taken care of properly.
Inichi wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The world changes, and if we are to survive, we must change with it."
Fresh tea was brought to wash away the harsh taste of too much sake, and a toast was made to the new day, where the Black Dragon clan was now fated to be the cutting edge of a freer market.
* * * *
The door opened quietly as Regis came in looking more dead than alive. Roger hurried over and helped him to a couch, then got him a cold coke from the hotel room's refrigerator.
"Never let it be said,” he croaked, when he got his breath back, “that skating a razor is easy."
"It's done then?"
"It's done, my friend, but please, if ever I feel like playing a god again? There's a spot in the middle of my soft behind. It's where I want you to kick me."
Roger grinned. “Right."
Three days later a sealed letter was
delivered to their door where Regis signed for it. The person who brought it didn't look like a messenger and stared at him before accepting the receipt and leaving.
Roger watched as Regis slit the end of the large envelope, and the papers it contained were drawn out and read. His friend's lips twitched into a small smile.
"Well, well, well.” He looked up. “We now have a place we can call home, and it's protected on all four sides."
"What does that mean?” asked Roger curiously.
"Treacherous currents, dangerous shoals, sharks and the law."
"You make it sound almost respectable."
"We are now the proud owners of a once scientific out-station in international waters."
Roger raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to do this? It's going to cost a fortune. He pulled out a small notebook and opened it to look at the figures. “And right now we're running on empty."
Regis frowned. “That's a problem.” He turned restively to the windows and stared into the throngs bustling below. “There's so much for me to learn and so little time to learn it!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Isn't it obvious? Think about it. If I'm not safe, hidden in some geographically protected spot, eventually I cannot help but call attention to myself, and aside from having friends endangered, there are governmental influences to consider."
He turned, his features grim. “I'm sorry to say this, Roger. I trust you will not take offense, but there isn't a single nation's administrative body on the face of your planet that's trustworthy."
"I'm not taking offense, old boy. I agree."
"Each government has at times in its history proven itself despicable, betraying their allies and their people. Their will is motivated for greed and power, which usually costs the lives of many."
"Here, here!"
"It is my intention to destroy the political base of such operations."
Roger blinked. “What?"
"So we must be cautious. If they realize what we're up to, they will hunt us down and kill everyone of us."
Roger looked wary. “I have to agree. Both individually and collectively they can be dangerous."
The Fourth Guardian Page 11
