The boy ignored Johnny. Instead he widened his smile. “To follow, please.”
He turned his back and headed toward the exit.
Johnny let the boy lead the way. The kid had made a point of emphasizing the mural. The mural had a nuclear theme. That wasn’t by accident, Johnny thought. It had to be a reference to the formula.
The boy walked through the double door outside the station. Johnny followed.
A rowdy bunch of teenagers cut in front of him. They were hurrying into the station as though they were late for a train. They joked and jostled, elbowing the other pedestrians out of the way. Johnny peered over their heads. Saw the boy. A man wheeled a vending machine forward and obscured his view. Johnny pushed the last teen out of his way. The man with the vending machine moved further forward.
The boy was gone.
Johnny searched the perimeter of the station. He tried to hurry—even run—but it was impossible to take more than three steps without bumping into someone. A fleeting sense of desperation gripped him. Had someone lifted the boy? He’d confirmed Johnny’s identity. Why would he have vanished of his own accord?
What a disaster. He couldn’t have scripted it any worse unless the kid had been harmed. Which was not entirely out of the question, Johnny thought.
He returned to the front of the station. Commuters rushed past him in each direction. Johnny stood facing the front door. He studied the same exit the boy had used to leave the building. Looked around one more time.
Nothing.
His only course of action was to wait or return to the hotel. Then he saw that the homeless-looking man was staring at him. He widened his eyes slightly as though he was praying Johnny, the gaijin, would come over to help him. None of his own countrymen cared.
Johnny didn’t know the proper etiquette in Japan. He’d never seen a single homeless person during his previous stay in Tokyo. If he gave the old man a few yen, people might think he was encouraging the man to live in the street. But ignoring him felt even worse.
Johnny walked over and gave the man a five-hundred-yen note. The man’s eyes widened with glee. He took the bill and nodded. Then he hugged Johnny. A bow would have been customary. The hug was so unexpected, Johnny found himself patting the beggar on the back out of sheer instinct.
The beggar’s whisper sounded soft and steady in Johnny’s ear. “Where are you staying?”
The man’s English was impeccable. Johnny tried to pull back to look at the man’s face but he hung on tight. Refused to let Johnny move.
“Which hotel?”
Johnny hesitated, then let his instincts take over. “Hotel Century Southern Tower,” he said.
“I will call you.”
“Who are you?”
“Be careful. We can’t assume we’re alone.”
“What does that mean? You’re being followed?”
The man let go of Johnny and walked away. He slipped his bowl into his jacket pocket, righted his posture, and accelerated his pace.
Then he entered the station and vanished among the crowd.
CHAPTER 4
LUO ENJOYED THE tour of Chornobyl village and Pripyat on Sunday morning more than he expected. Pripyat was the name of the town that had been built within the village for the benefit of the nuclear power plant workers. It had been abandoned since 1986. Visiting the nuclear ghost town had become a cult experience. Prior to his tour, Luo couldn’t understand the appeal. After seeing the damaged reactor and walking around Pripyat, however, he had a better sense of the attraction.
Chornobyl offered an eerie glimpse of what Earth looked like without humans. The tourist could decide if it was a glimpse into the past or the future. Either way, it was a desolate vision shrouded in mystery but punctuated with hope and possibility. It was the latter observation that surprised Luo the most. He had expected to experience a sense of loss and discomfort. He certainly felt those sensations, especially at the memorial statue to the firefighters who perished from radiation sickness. But he was also left with a sense of rebirth under way. The Zone of Exclusion was thick with vegetation. A variety of wild animals, many formerly extinct, roamed the land.
After the tour was over, the grumpy guide left. Luo stood by the gate to the power plant with a Ukrainian cop. The inspector looked like a boxer gone to pot. He studied Luo’s dark complexion, leather skin, and small eyes. Luo knew the look. Some Russians looked down on people who didn’t resemble the image in their mirror. Evidently some Ukrainians shared the same affliction.
“Where are you from?” the inspector said.
Luo smiled. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
The inspector spat on the ground. “You must know someone important if I was forced to get out of bed and meet you here on a Sunday morning.”
“Now there’s something that does really matter.” Luo’s former commander, a retired general, had gotten him access to the Zone.
The inspector raised his eyebrows. “Black Berets?”
The Black Berets were Russian special forces. They dealt with domestic counter-terrorism, riot control, and special situations. Some of those situations were rumored to have occurred in foreign countries. Luo knew firsthand the rumors were true.
He stared at the inspector but didn’t say a word.
The inspector nodded. “I can always tell. Chechnya?”
Luo stiffened. The mere mention of the place raised his blood pressure.
“First war or second?” the inspector said.
“Like I told you.”
The inspector frowned. “Told me what?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Luo looked the inspector in the eyes again. “Tell me about the fire in the village.”
“One of the abandoned homes burned down. About a kilometer and a half away. The fire trucks from the power plant put it out.”
“When was this?”
“Five days ago.”
“You investigated?”
The inspector lit a cigarette. “Everything burned to the ground. There was no sign of human life. As there shouldn’t be. It’s prohibited for anyone to live in the Zone of Exclusion.”
“If there are no people, how did the fire start?”
“I didn’t say there are no people. I said there are no people living here. There are workers in the power plant. And the occasional trespasser can’t be ruled out. For the record, the fire was started by causes unknown.”
“Off the record?”
“Off the record, there may be squatters. Old people who came back home.”
“And the house that burned down?”
“It was obvious someone had been living there. There was a freshly tilled garden beside the ashes. Someone was getting the land ready to plant a garden. And the outhouse.”
“What about it?”
“It had been used recently. And I don’t think it was the wild boars. Do you?”
“Did you find any human remains?” Luo said.
“No. But we found shell casings. From a rifle, a shotgun, and a handgun.”
“Not your garden variety vegetable-growing tools. What did you make of that?”
“I didn’t make anything of that. Because there’s nothing to make. Who knows when the bullets were fired and for what reasons? There’ve been poachers, scavengers, and thieves roaming the Zone for decades. Anyone could have fired those bullets.”
“Including the person who was living there?”
“Highly unlikely.”
“Why?”
“It was a babushka.”
The same babushka the scavenger, Hayder, had mentioned. She’d taken care of Nadia Tesla’s uncle and stayed in the house after he died.
“You’re certain?” Luo said.
“Her name is Oksana Hauk. It was carved into the bottom of some cookware that survived the fire. My men and I went d
oor to door through the area. We found her living with an old couple half a kilometer away.”
Luo pulled a roll of bills from his pocket. “I need to talk to her immediately.”
The inspector licked his lips. “Off the record?”
“What record? I’m not even here.”
The inspector drove them through the woods to a ramshackle home. He knocked on the door and identified himself as a policeman. No one answered. He turned the doorknob and went inside. A minute later he emerged covering his nose with his sleeve. He coughed and waved for Luo to come over.
“Looks like someone else was looking for the same information you are,” the inspector said. “And he got here first.”
They went into the house. The stench of rotten flesh hit Luo right away but he was used to it. Two babushkas and an old man lay dead on the floor. They’d been executed professionally. Single bullet to the head. The scene confirmed to Luo that he was on the right track and added a new wrinkle.
Someone else was looking for the treasure, too.
CHAPTER 5
JOHNNY WAITED IN his hotel room all day for the man from the train station to call. He ordered chicken yakitori and a bowl of buckwheat soup for dinner. He passed on the Japanese beer and washed his dinner down with bottled water and green tea instead. It was a major sacrifice. The Japanese drank beer with everything. Anyone could buy it in vending machines on street corners all over Tokyo. There was a reason they drank it with their cuisine. It was delicious. But under the circumstances, Johnny didn’t want even a drop of alcohol impeding his judgment or slowing him down.
He fell asleep watching a Japanese game show featuring housewives in pink miniskirts battling each other in a singing competition for a free hot tub. When the phone jarred him awake, the clock said 11:27 p.m.
“I’m in the bar,” a man said.
Johnny recognized the voice. It was the beggar from the train station.
He hung up before Johnny could reply.
Johnny got dressed and went to the bar. Most of the tables were occupied by businessmen in dark suits and ties. Shibuya may have been the playground for the young, but the businesses were owned and operated by grown men.
A young singer with an exaggerated hourglass figure and peroxide hair sang an Adele tune onstage. She was more bosom than voice, but that seemed to suit the audience just fine. It suited Johnny well, too. There was talent and then there was talent. She was accompanied by a band. A sign on an easel at the entrance to the bar said the band’s name was Melbourne. Australian talent, Johnny thought. He’d never gotten down under that way. But now, with Nadia in the picture, he wasn’t even tempted.
Johnny found the man at a table for two in the back. A candle provided just enough lighting for Johnny to recognize him. He wore a gray plaid sports jacket over a black dress shirt. He’d washed his hair and shaved. He looked ten years younger. Still, even the candlelight couldn’t hide the creases in his face. They spoke of hardship and suffering and commanded Johnny’s respect.
An adorable waitress with a pageboy hairdo appeared. The man ordered Suntory whiskey on ice. Johnny didn’t want to dull his senses with alcohol but he had no choice. Men in Japan were expected to drink and drink heavily when in the company of other men. He ordered a Sapporo beer. He’d been craving one since dinner.
“I am Nakamura,” the man said, after the waitress left.
In Japan, men called each other by their last names. “I’m Johnny Tanner.”
“I know.”
“Why are you here?”
“You know why I’m here. Nadia Tesla, and her cousin, Adam, received e-mails from my friend. I’m here on his behalf, just as you are here on their behalf.”
“What is your friend’s name?”
Nakamura thought about the question. “Let’s just call my friend Genesis II.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I work with an organization called Global Medical Corps.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“The impoverished kind. Global Medical Corps goes where they are needed. We were on the ground in Fukushima within forty-eight hours of the earthquake and tsunami on March 11, 2011, providing medical assistance, setting up temporary housing, delivering key household items. And of course, providing medical support. There were 59,000 evacuees. Some are still living in makeshift shelters.”
“That was a real tragedy. I’m sorry for your country’s troubles.” Johnny bowed his head slightly and let a few seconds pass out of respect. “Where did you learn to speak English so well?”
Nakamura paused as though remembering something, and then smiled. “I was an exchange student for a year in high school. Oshkosh, Wisconsin. Cheese country. I lived on a farm. I liked it so much I went to college at the University of Wisconsin. In Madison. Much of our work has been done in countries where English is the common language so I’ve been able to keep it up.”
“Who was the kid at the train station? The one that met me at the mural?”
“A college student. A volunteer.”
“Volunteer?”
“The Corps relies on volunteers. Students from all over the world take semesters off to work with us, give back to the community.”
“So he’s not Genesis II?”
“No. He is not Genesis II. It was just a precaution. To make sure you were who you said you were.”
“Why the precaution?”
“Genesis II has confided in me as a friend. He believes he has something of extreme value. Something that could change the world. He has led a troubled life, and as a result is not a trusting person. He sometimes suffers from anxiety and delusion. He is constantly fearful.”
“At the train station, you said we can’t assume we’re alone.”
“I have no reason to believe I’m being followed, but Genesis II said to expect the unexpected. He said that you should do the same. I trust him, and believe in him and the power of the treasure he possesses.”
“Tell me what you know about the treasure. I need to be convinced this is all real.”
Nakamura started to answer and stopped. Two men in slick suits walked by their table. One of them glanced alternately at Nakamura and Johnny. The men seated themselves at a table closer to the stage. Johnny spied bulges under their jackets. He was reminded of what his teachers had told him during his first day as an exchange student. The further from the center of Tokyo, the greater the influence of the Yakuza, the Japanese organized crime syndicates.
“That was a very American question,” Nakamura said.
“What do you mean, American question?”
“Blunt, direct, inappropriate. I could ask you the same. What do you know about the treasure? But that would be rude, and a waste of time. Because you would merely deflect the question and we would engage in a battle of wits until our drinks arrived.”
“You’ve got the wrong man, friend. I don’t deflect questions. Ask anything you want. You might not like the answer, but I won’t waste your time.” Johnny kept his voice down and maintained a calm expression on his face. He wanted his demeanor to contrast with his words to lend them even more power. “That’s me being very American, as opposed to the Japanese, who’ll wait twenty years to publicly own up to a mistake and then commit suicide. Is that your idea of appropriate behavior?”
Nakamura appeared stunned.
“Oh, have I got your attention? Are we done bullshitting each other here?”
Nakamura stared at him.
Johnny said, “In the e-mail, Genesis II used the phrase, ‘Fate of the free world depends on us.’ What did he mean by that?”
“You know what the treasure is, so you know what he meant by that.” Nakamura smiled. “See? The battle of wits begins despite your assurances to the contrary. Who will reveal himself first?�
��
“I’m not the one wearing the kimono. You can see right through me and I wouldn’t have it any other way. What made him choose those exact words?”
“Genesis II said those words would have meaning to Nadia and Adam Tesla. And that given you were their representative, they would have meaning to you. Was he right?”
Johnny shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Says the man without the kimono.”
Johnny smiled.
The waitress arrived with their drinks and two bowls of salty Japanese crackers and nuts.
“I have to ask you another question,” Johnny said. “It’s going to sound blunt, direct, and inappropriate.”
“No kidding,” Nakamura said.
“Who is Genesis II?” Johnny didn’t expect Nakamura to answer the question or unintentionally reveal a clue, but he knew Nadia would be disappointed if he didn’t ask.
Nakamura looked away. “I expected more from you. But you are such an American, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and proud of it. Does Genesis II know Adam?”
Johnny studied Nakamura’s reaction for a tell of some kind. He got nothing. Instead, Nakamura continued looking stone-faced at the stage.
“How did you and Genesis II meet?”
Nakamura sipped his whiskey. “I’ve given you enough information for you to answer that question yourself.”
Johnny remembered their earlier conversation. “You’re a doctor. You’re working in Fukushima. You must have met Genesis II in Fukushima. Genesis II is a survivor of the earthquake, tsunami, or the nuclear disaster.”
Nakamura’s eyebrows furrowed a smidge. It was just enough of a physical reaction to tell Johnny he was wrong.
“No,” Johnny said. “He’s not a victim. He’s a volunteer.”
Nakamura lifted his chin.
“Hot dog. Score one for the boy from Jersey.”
They sipped their drinks some more. A moment of silence passed between them. Johnny’s victory proved momentary. He still needed proof the locket existed and contained a formula, and he was no closer to that than when he arrived.
The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark (The Nadia Tesla Series Book 3) Page 3
