by Jacob Whaler
“Of course, Dr. Ryzaard. I only thought that I might be of better service to the project if I were permitted to—”
“When can you start the implant procedure?”
Dr. Small casts one more look at the glass cube and turns to face the hospital bed. “It will take four hours to prepare the patient. We can begin immediately after that. Would you like to attend? We can make room for you around the table.”
“Unfortunately, I have other business to tidy up. Please proceed without me. I will check with you when I get back.” Ryzaard goes to his office and shuts the door to the round room, leaving Dr. Small to his work.
Walking behind his desk, Ryzaard looks out at the city below.
They have no idea what future awaits them.
Picking up his jax, he brushes his thumb across its smooth surface. “Alexa, I am stepping out for a few hours. Keep the troops working. I will check in when I get back.” The jax drops from his hand onto the desk. He reaches into the outer pocket of his tweed jacket and caresses the Stones with the fingertips of his right hand. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and relaxes into the image in his mind.
The air around him turns white, and he vanishes from the room.
When Ryzaard opens his eyes, he is standing at the bottom of a long flight of stone steps. The buzzing of cicadas fills his ears. He breathes in deeply and tastes the heavy, moist air. An unbroken vista of tree-covered mountains spreads out below him.
A voice with a hint of a Japanese accent descends down from the top of the steps. “Good to see you, Dr. Ryzaard. Thank you so much for coming.”
Ryzaard looks up to see a dark-haired young man dressed in the robes of a Shinto priest, standing just outside the torii gate at the top of the steps.
“Ohayou gozaimasu, Miyazawa-san,” Ryzaard says. “I trust this summer morning finds you healthy and prosperous.”
“I am healthy, yes.” The Shinto priest slowly walks down the stone steps, watching the place where Ryzaard stands with intense eyes until he reaches the bottom.
“Allow me to express my most sincere regret at the untimely passing of your esteemed colleague, Mr. Naganuma.” Ryzaard bows from the waist at a precise thirty-degree angle. “He was a good friend, and I mourn his loss.”
Tomoyuki Miyazawa returns the bow with studied precision. “He was a master of our sect. His loss leaves large shoes for me to fill. I just arrived today at my new post.” Miyazawa motions to the top of the steps. “Will you please join me for tea.”
“With pleasure,” Ryzaard says.
They ascend the steps together in the silence of the singing cicadas.
Miyazawa pours two cups of tea and carefully places them on a black lacquered tray that he carries over the tatami floor to the low table. Ryzaard sits Japanese style on a zabuton cushion on the opposite side, his back to the open front door.
Bending down, Miyazawa places a steaming cup on the table. He sits directly on the tatami floor with no cushion. “Based on your reports, I understand that Naganuma-san died in an explosion at MX Global headquarters.”
“Yes, the recent terrorist attack was most regrettable.”
Miyazawa leans forward. “Did you recover any articles of interest or personal possessions from the body?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Ryzaard says. “There was nothing left by the time we recovered his remains. Was there a particular item that you had in mind?” He looks intently across the table into Miyazawa’s eyes, gauging his reaction.
After some hesitation, Miyazawa waves his hand in front of his face. “Perhaps a small leather-bound book. Naganuma-san carried it with him wherever he went. It was an item of some personal importance to him.”
“It would have been consumed in the fire. What sort of book was it?” Ryzaard tries this time not to look too intently at Miyazawa.
“Nothing, really.” Miyazawa waves his hand again like batting at a fly to dismiss the subject. “Did you speak with Naganuma-san before his passing?”
“Yes,” Ryzaard says. “As a matter of fact I did. We talked about the future of Shinto and its spread throughout the world.” His hand reaches out for the teacup and brings it to his lips. As he sips from the cup, his eyes sweep the walls of the room. “I see you have made some changes to the decor since you moved in.”
Miyazawa drops his head in a quick bow, acknowledging Ryzaard’s observation. The posters of Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe are gone, replaced by classic kakejiku wall hangings with hand-painted landscapes and ancient manyoshu poems about the beauty and mystery of nature. “As you can see, I prefer a more traditional approach.” His thin white fingers reach for a cup of tea. They are a marked contrast to Naganuma’s rough and dirty hands.
“I am sorry to take your time. I know you are a busy man.” Ryzaard takes another sip. “So, with your permission, I will jump right to the point. I have come to discuss the future of our partnership now that Naganuma-san is gone.”
Miyazawa audibly sucks air through his teeth and closes his eyes, as if taken aback by the directness of Ryzaard’s words. “It has been less than a week since his passing. I have hardly had time to give the future any thought. I am sure you understand.” He raises the teacup to his nose, inhales the fragrance of the light green liquid, and touches it to his lips.
“Of course,” Ryzaard says. “I have no intention of rushing you.” He shifts his position on the zabuton cushion, lifting his upper body off his knees and coming back down.
Miyazawa notices Ryzaard’s movement. “Please make yourself comfortable.” He motions for Ryzaard to spread out his legs, all the while remaining in traditional Japanese sitting posture himself.
“Thank you.” Ryzaard opens his legs into a more comfortable lotus position.
Miyazawa smiles. “Do you have a proposal you wish to discuss?”
“I do.” Ryzaard nods. “I have always viewed the spread of Shinto as a mutually beneficial strategy.”
“Strategy?”
Ryzaard curses himself internally for the slip of tongue. The young Shinto priest has much to learn about the ways of power. Until that time, he will need to be handled carefully.
“Forgive me for my poor choice of words,” Ryzaard says. “What I meant to say is that we both pursue the same goal.”
“And what is that?” Miyazawa sips again from the teacup and eyes Ryzaard carefully.
“Freedom.”
Miyazawa looks up from his tea. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Yes, I know it sounds crazy.” Ryzaard leans forward with both hands on the table. “I represent one of the largest commercial enterprises in the world. And you represent one of the oldest and most revered spiritual traditions in Asia. What could we possibly have in common?”
“Indeed,” Miyazawa says.
“It’s simple. We both seek to free mankind from their chains, each in our own way. Shinto opens the door to a spiritual reality that allows it believers to transcend the material world. MX Global pursues the path of technology and science to lift the world out of slavery, suffering and misery. We are two sides of the same coin.”
Miyazawa traces the thin line of his lips with an index finger. “Interesting. What is your proposal?”
“The same one I made to Naganuma-san before his untimely death.”
“Please explain.”
“As you know, under Mr. Naganuma’s leadership, MX Global sponsored the building of a few hundred Shinto shrines in the United States, as an experiment. In our view, the experiment has been successful, and Shinto has received a warm reception.
“Indeed,” Miyazawa says. “A fact for which we are most grateful.”
“The time has come to expand the operation. MX Global now wishes to provide you and your organization with unlimited funds to expand the reach of Shinto worldwide. In essence, I’m handing you a blank check. Millions of shrines in thousands of countries.”
For a moment, Miyazawa’s eyes grow large as he stares at Ryzaard. “Unlimited funds? A bla
nk check? Millions of shrines? Such a generous offer.” After regaining his composure, he drops his eyes to focus intently on the teacup in his hand. His eyes narrow. “Mr. Ryzaard, you are a businessman. Surely, this offer comes with certain strings attached. What does MX Global ask for in return?”
Silence hangs in the air between them.
Ryzaard’s gaze wanders up to a classic Japanese painting of two cone-shaped mountains crossed by a thin hanging bridge. A lush jungle spreads out below. Then his eyes drop down. “Humans are complicated beings, Miyazawa-san. Each of us inhabits two separate worlds simultaneously. The spiritual and the material. Both are important, both are necessary. But a large gap exists between them. It is a source of much suffering. Don’t you agree?”
“Of course,” Miyazawa says. “So we strive to bring the material and the spiritual into proper balance.”
“Exactly.” Ryzaard reaches into the pocket of his tweed jacket. “We are developing a technology to bridge that gap, to bring the material and spiritual together as one. Only then will mankind be whole. Only then will mankind be free. All we ask is that you allow your worshippers free access to that technology.” He takes a square object the size of a marble out of his pocket and carefully places it on the table. “This encrypted memory cube gives you immediate access to a restricted account at Beijing Bank. The account balance is currently fifty billion IMUs.”
“Fifty billion IMUs?” The color in Miyazawa’s face drains away, and he struggles for breath.
“I will see to it that the account is replenished on a regular basis. You need not worry about the balance.”
“Such generosity. I am left without words.” Miyazawa places shaky hands on the low table and bows deeply.
“I would suggest you start with China. I can assure you that their government will be only too happy to cooperate with your efforts to expand Shinto within their borders.” Ryzaard drops his head in a shallow bow. “With that, I must be on my way. Thank you for your time.” He pushes away from the table and stands up from the cushion, turning to the open door behind him.
“Dr. Ryzaard,” Miyazawa says. “Just one more question, if I may.”
“By all means.”
Miyazawa rises to his feet. “Is there anything specific you can tell me about this new technology that will bridge the gap between the spiritual and the material? I would be interested in learning more.”
“I am afraid that will have to wait. It is still in the experimental stage. But let me say this. It will provide a seamless link between the seen and the unseen worlds.” Ryzaard steps down from the tatami floor and slips into his shoes, neatly arranged at the front door. “I look forward to a prosperous partnership. Sayonara, my friend.” He walks outside.
Miyazawa hurries to follow him out the door, sliding on his walking slippers on the way.
When he gets outside, Ryzaard is gone.
CHAPTER 24
The engine of the bus gears down, and it rolls to a gentle stop.
“A day full of death. It takes a lot out of you.” Jake leans forward, head down, hands on the back of the seat in front. “I keep thinking about what Ryzaard will do to Little John.”
“Based on what I’ve seen, if Little John doesn’t cooperate, it’s going to include large doses of pain.” Kent shakes his head, trying not to think of Matt. “What can we do? We could try to go after him. Put together an invasion force of your Children. I’m not sure what our chances of success would be.”
“Zero.” Jake lifts his head. “That’s the truth. It’s what Little John himself would say. And he’s right. We wouldn’t stand a chance doing another rescue operation. Ryzaard would be waiting for us. It’s suicide to even try.”
Kent nods, lips tight in a grim expression.
“Look, we’re both stressed out. People don’t make good decisions under stress. We need to take a little time to rest and get our bearings. Just a few hours. Then we’ll decide what to do.” Jake stands up.
“I already know what I’m going to do.” Kent gets to his feet.
“What’s that?”
“Go after my son.”
“Agreed.” Jake starts walking to the front of the bus. “But we have to do it in the right way. That’s what Little John would want. He always said you should take your time when making important decisions. Clear your head. And never do anything on an empty stomach.”
“Good advice, I suppose.” Kent follows Jake down the aisle of the bus and out the front door. “So what’s the plan?”
“Spend the rest of the day here at the camp.” Jake forces a smile. “Try to be happy. Eat some good food. Reboot our minds. Get one good night’s rest. Then take off first thing in the morning. It’s what Little John would want.”
Kent looks at the cornfields that extend to the horizon in every direction. “And where, exactly, is here? Looks like we’re back in Iowa.”
“Kansas.” Jake pushes the sunglasses up on his nose.
“What makes you think Ryzaard won’t send his attack ships here?”
“There’s nothing here he wants. Nobody here worth killing or kidnapping.”
“And who would be worth killing or kidnapping?”
Jake turns away. “You already know the answer.”
“I suppose I do.” Kent walks across the pavement onto the gravel shoulder, sealing his mind against panic. “Where do we go tomorrow?”
“First thing in the morning, we’ll jump on the Freedom Express, leave the corn behind and head for the Main Camp.”
“The Main Camp?” An image of the burnt body he saw back in Iowa flashes into Kent’s mind. “What about my son? Aren’t we going to try to find him before Ryzaard does.”
“Yes,” Jake says. “And that’s why we’re going to the Main Camp. They’ve got more resources. It’s out of the country. We’ll be safer from Ryzaard. It’ll give us time to figure out what to do.”
“Out of the country? Let me guess. Mexico?”
“Wrong direction. Ever heard of Stanley Park in Vancouver, British Columbia?”
“Sure I’ve heard of it. Beautiful country up there. What’s the Freedom Express?”
Jake offers a wry smile. “That’s our travel network.”
“Somehow I get the feeling it’s not a corporate jet.” Kent follows Jake on a narrow path through shoulder-high corn. After a hundred meters, it opens up into a round field of grass dotted with tents.
“Now try to relax for the next few hours.” Jake scans the field, as if looking for someone in particular. “After we leave here, it may be a long time before we find ourselves in such good company.”
“Over here, Jake.” A high-pitched voice yells from within the camp.
Looking at dozens of people milling around the tents, Kent can’t find the source of the voice.
Jake turns his head in the general direction of the sound, smiles and starts walking across the grass.
Kent stumbles on the ground and falls forward.
“Watch out for the gopher holes. Sprained ankles can be nasty.” Jake laughs and breaks into a jog for one of the tents. “I’m coming,” he yells out.
Scrambling to his feet, Kent rushes to keep up.
A short woman in blue jeans and a crisp white blouse stands at the opening of a tent near the center of the camp, one hand holding the flap open. Jake runs directly to her. She opens her arms and gives Jake a big hug, and then she pulls back to have a look at his face.
“I heard about Little John and the others. So many of the Children lost in New York. And now Iowa. Nothing but death lately. It follows him.” The short woman’s eyes fix on Kent. She shakes her head and whispers, just loud enough for Kent to hear. “I’m scared, Jake. What are they going to do to Little John?”
“I don’t know,” Jake says. “All I know is what Little John himself always said. They’ll come get me some day. You’ll need a new leader. You’ll have to move on. Don’t let fear paralyze you.”
“What are we going to do without him?” The woman
brings a hand up to her face. “He could see things. We’re blind without him.” Tears stream down her cheeks.
“You’ll do what you’ve always done.” Jake points his aviator sunglasses directly at her. “Just keep on keeping on. Wait for a new direction.”
“And a new leader?”
“Yes.” Jake turns to Kent. “And this man is the key to finding our new leader.”
The woman wipes her tears and slips off Jake’s sunglasses, forcing a smile on her face. “Still as ugly as ever,” she says. “No matter. It’s too late to stop loving you.” The sunglasses go back into place.
Jake turns his face down to hers and inhales deeply. “Rachel. Always fresh as a daisy, even if you haven’t had a shower for a month.” He reaches up behind her head and pulls her close for a long kiss. Then he turns around to face Kent behind him.
“Kent, meet Rachel,” he says. “My wife and protector. The world’s greatest cook.” He turns to Rachel. “Rachel, meet Kent.”
She scans up and down, eyes narrowing. “Are you the Spider?”
“So I’m told,” Kent says. “Although I prefer to just go by Kent.”
Rachel motions to the interior of the tent. “Come on in, boys. You must be hungry. We’ll eat now and talk later.”
The aroma of biscuits and gravy floats out of the tent and wafts up to meet Kent’s nose. His stomach pulls him through the opening. The next thing he knows, he’s sitting on an overturned plastic box with a plateful of heaven balanced on his hand.
“I don’t know how you do it, Rachel,” Jake says. “This sure beats the sardines and beer I’ve been living on for the last month.”
“Thank you for the food, ma’am.” Kent smiles at Rachel, but she doesn’t look up to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry for the trouble my son and I have caused all of you.”
“No need to apologize.” Jake points his aviator glasses in the direction of Kent. “We’re glad we got you out alive. Now we just need to find your son.”
After a silent dinner and cleanup, the three of them gather around a small table in the tent. Rachel lights a candle. The soft aroma of vanilla fills the air.
