Kusanagi Read online

  He went in, and found himself surrounded by cabinets of swords and armour. Towards the back of the shop he saw an old man and approached him – the proprietor, he thought. The old man’s desk had a case on it, filled with little white and brown carvings. Reece walked up to him and smiled. The old man smiled back.

  Reece bowed a little and moved towards a chair in front of the desk. The old guy held out his hand, inviting him to sit.

  Reece sat down, and immediately noticed that someone was moving behind a beaded screen. She popped her head out – a little old lady dressed in classic Japanese style. The proprietor’s wife, he thought. He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and took out a coin, stuck between two five thousand yen bills. ‘I want to sell this,’ he said slowly. He put it on the velvet cloth that lay in front of the old man.

  The old man looked at him gravely, then picked up the coin. He cocked his head from side to side and sucked his front teeth. A moment later, he pursed his lips, produced a jeweller’s loupe and began to scrutinise it. He put the loupe down, pulled out a large magnifying glass from beneath the desk and moved the coin backwards and forwards under the lens, flipping it over from one side to the other.

  He sighed and laid the coin on the cloth. ‘Sell?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Reece.

  The old man pulled out a pad and a long thin gold pen.‘3,000,000 Y’, he wrote.

  Reece looked at the old man. Thirty thousand dollars? The Japanese didn’t rip people off, or so they said – and so he had experienced. They also didn’t negotiate, haggle or expect tips. ‘Yes,’ he said. He bowed again. ‘OK.’

  The old man got up and went through the bead curtain.

  While he was gone, Reece turned to inspect the room. It was full of ancient stuff and it struck him that he must be sitting in the middle of a fortune. He had another four gold coins in his pocket, and forced away the thought of what they were worth. It didn’t seem sensible to push his luck here. He’d try another store.

  The old man came back and laid three bundles of cash on the velvet. Reece didn’t count it: he knew he didn’t need to. He stood up, pushing the money deep into his inside jacket pocket.

  The old man was bowing.

  ‘Domo,’ said Reece.

  Reece walked across the bar towards his unit, his face deadpan. Danny got up and headed to the bar to get them all another round. Reece took Danny’s place against the wall, sliding his briefcase behind his knees.

  ‘How did it go?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Let’s wait till Danny gets back.’

  ‘We weren’t expecting you till tomorrow. Didn’t go good, then?’ fished Casey.

  Reece turned to see what progress Danny was making – he was on his way back, bringing the beers. For a Saturday night the place was dead but, even when they were busy, Japanese bar staff did not fuck around. You needed a drink, you got one quick time.

  Reece took his bottle from his colleague and had a long draught.

  ‘Well?’ said Brandon.

  ‘I only got to sell two coins.’

  ‘Oh, shit,’ said Danny. ‘That’s why you came back early.’

  ‘What did you get for them?’ asked Casey. ‘I mean, if there are thousands of them it might still be worth it.’

  ‘Well,’ said Reece, ‘I got thirty thousand for one and twenty-five thousand for the other.’

  ‘Thirty thousand yen’s pretty cool,’ said Casey.

  ‘Dollars.’

  Casey, Brandon and Danny froze. There were no whoops of joy. Reece grinned up the right side of his face. ‘Gentlemen, that’s the correct response.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Danny, ‘we’re going to get busted.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Reece.

  Brandon was chuckling to himself; he nudged Casey, whose bottle holding hand was covering his mouth. Casey threw him a look that seemed to say, ‘At some point this is all going to be your fault.’

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ said Danny.

  ‘Well, it can’t do any harm to go back to that reef and take a look, can it?’ Reece gazed around the table, allowing himself a smirk.

  ‘We can’t get busted for a bit of sports diving,’ said Casey.

  ‘Let’s see what we find,’ said Reece, ‘then work out what to do. So far we’ve done nothing we can’t explain away.’

  Danny’s eyes twinkled in the subdued light of the bar. He raised his bottle. ‘Here’s to sports diving.’

  10

  Jim sat forlornly at the end of the examination couch. The doctor had been gone for thirty minutes and he had put his shirt back on. What the hell was keeping him? He was pretty surprised that, considering the stupendous amounts of money the clinic charged, he could be left alone for so long, semi-naked.

  Being rich and seeing doctors seemed to go hand in hand. Before he had made any money his life had been a bit of squalor and a lot of health. When wealth had entered his life through the front door, mayhem and destruction had come in at the back, he reflected. He got off the couch and put his shoes on, then sat on a high leather armchair by the doctor’s desk.

  At last the door opened and the old doctor walked in. He didn’t look very happy. He sat down by his desk, a folder in his hand, and seemed to avoid Jim’s eyes. ‘I’m really sorry, but I can’t help you.’

  The colour drained from Jim’s face. ‘What is it?’

  The doctor looked very unhappy indeed. He opened the folder and took out a sheet of paper. ‘This is not something I can deal with.’ He pointed at an image it showed.

  ‘Is that me?’ said Jim, looking at the ribcage with what seemed to be a large battery pack embedded into it.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, Mr Evans, you tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, rubbing his face with both hands.

  ‘Whatever it is, I’m not qualified to deal with it, and whoever put it there clearly has a mandate.’

  ‘A mandate?’ said Jim.

  The doctor didn’t reply.

  ‘Why can’t you take it out?’

  ‘It would mean replacing a large part of your ribcage,’ said the doctor. ‘Moreover, whatever it is, it probably does a better job than anything I could replace it with.’

  Jim touched the spot on his ribs where he felt a periodic twinge and the scan showed a plate across three ribs. His fingertips couldn’t detect it.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you,’ said the doctor, standing up. ‘I won’t charge you for this consultation.’

  ‘Why?’ said Jim, also getting to his feet.

  The doctor seemed suddenly fearful. ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention you’d seen me,’ he said. He was pleading.

  ‘You don’t need to worry,’ said Jim, as the penny dropped. ‘My friends did this to me.’

  ‘Really?’ said the doctor.

  ‘Not the grenade injuries, the other thing.’ He shrugged apologetically.

  ‘Just don’t tell me any more.’ The doctor hurried to open the door.

  The Thames was rushing by Jim’s windows as the spring tide raced up at full bore. The water was grey, like the heavy rainclouds above. All manner of flotsam rode the tide downstream to the sea, mysterious drowned shapes riding the surging currents. The innocent and the obscene churned together in the cold, turbulent waters. He was staring at his phone. He wanted to call Jane and shout, ‘What did you put in me?’ But one of the nagging questions at the back of his mind had been answered. How had they found him so quickly in the Congo? Well, now he had seen the picture it was obvious: they had chipped him like a pedigree puppy.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that smashing his phone against the wall would create days of inconvenience, he would have lobbed it across the room – or, better still, opened the window and consigned it to the bottom of the river.

  Stafford came in with a tray. ‘Tea and crumpets, sir?’

  Jim couldn’t help but laugh. The fucking Am
ericans had stuck a transponder in his ribcage, and the British had sent an agent disguised as a butler to spy on him – and all because he could read the future of foreign exchange and stock charts like others read words on a page. Predicting the future performance of financial instruments seemed to many like something they could learn, a puzzle to crack and get good at, like a crossword. Predicting the market from charts was just another great way of making money, if you could master it. In reality, it was impossible – just as you couldn’t know for certain the winner of tomorrow’s three thirty at Doncaster until horse and jockey passed the post.

  While hundreds of books every year professed to teach you how to predict the future of markets, the reality was that, if you could, you’d be able to suck the financial world dry. A savant who could predict the movement of markets from charts could grow their wealth exponentially, for ever increasing the size of their bets. Pretty soon no one would be prepared to play against him and the market would die. It would be a skill as powerful and as dangerous as a time machine. The ability to see even seconds into the future of the dollar would ensure that the viewer made fortunes beyond even the avarice of billionaires. So, it was fortunate that these books did not unlock the secrets of trading the market, and that it was impossible to stare at the chart of Microsoft and see how it was going to trade. The consequences of being able to do so would be disastrous.

  Until one day, in a bank in London’s Docklands, a trainee who brought the coffee and fruit to the noisy traders had pointed out that the German Bund was about to go up. It had done so. His name was Jim Evans. For Jim, it had been the start of a crazy ride that, as he sat now, watching the tide roll up the Thames, seemed never-ending.

  ‘Professor Nakabashi, I’m honoured you could see me so quickly.’

  Akira smiled. ‘Sit down, old friend, and show me what you have found. I am most excited.’

  Shinjitai-san sat down slowly. While some men in their eighties seemed agile and untroubled by age, his advanced years had taken their toll. ‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ he said, pulling a handkerchief from the top pocket of his suit jacket. ‘But here it is.’ He unfolded the woollen cloth, a subtle tartan pattern made of finest thread.

  A gold lozenge twinkled.

  ‘Oooh,’ groaned Akira. He picked it up. ‘It is a treasure,’ he said, placing it under a lens, a cross between a magnifying glass and a microscope. The coin grew to the size of a chicken’s egg. ‘This is unrecorded. It is from the fourteenth century, an almost unprecedented find. It is pristine.’ He looked at Shinjitai-san. ‘How much did you pay for it?’

  ‘Sensei, I paid only three hundred mahn for it, but it was from an American and I could hardly believe that it was genuine. Three million yen was all I had to hand and I feared it was not genuine and that I would lose the money.’

  Akira nodded. ‘I understand. What would you have me pay for it?’

  Shinjitai-san bowed his head. ‘Ten million yen.’

  ‘That is not enough, but I will accept your offer.’

  ‘Thank you, Sensei. I am grateful that you will accept it into the Imperial Collection.’

  ‘See here,’ said Akira, opening a drawer. He put down a small velvet tray in front of Shinjitai-san.

  The old man gasped: it was another exquisite rarity. He looked at Akira. ‘Can it be?’

  Akira flexed the fingers on his short hand. ‘Of course not, Shinjitai-san, but it is delightful to imagine.’

  ‘Surely?’

  ‘We should not torture ourselves, my friend.’

  11

  Brandon could not relax till they had cleared the harbour. When the gentle swell lifted the boat as they left the protection of the walls, he felt a surge of relief. The Japanese had fussed over the craft and gone to excessive lengths to explain everything in minute detail. It had taken an infuriating two hours to get them on their way. Now that the wind was blowing in his face and Reece had opened up the engine, he felt like a gull flying across the tips of the waves. By the afternoon they would be on site.

  ‘It looks like it could get rough,’ shouted Reece to him, as the boat ploughed ahead at full speed. ‘There’s a storm front out to the east, and if it comes this way it could get nasty.’

  ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘We get to the target, and if the storm moves in, we’ll head back out to sea. If there’s no let-up, we’ll have to scrub the mission.’

  Brandon nodded. He loved the sea, but not enough to go sailing in a typhoon.

  The other guys were below, catching some sleep. Last night had been a long one of beers that only Reece had resisted. Brandon certainly could have used some shuteye himself, but the sea braced him like breaths of pure oxygen. He looked across the horizon at the perfect blue skies, punctuated by fluffy white cumulus clouds. It seemed impossible that a storm could suddenly sweep over the horizon, but he knew that the ocean was the most fickle of landscapes. Now as they drove through the waters, a large pod of dolphins broke the surface around them; they were hunting tuna. He watched, mesmerised, for a few happy moments. When he looked up, a wall of black stormclouds had darkened the heavens.

  Around the boat, the dolphins were leaping, arcing and diving in their chase. The graceful mammals filled the sea for hundreds of yards in every direction, shimmering against the black backdrop.

  ‘No wonder the old sailors were such a superstitious crew,’ shouted Reece, over the pounding roar of the engines. ‘The ocean’s full of omens.’

  ‘Omens?’ queried Brandon, as he was jolted by a wave. ‘Dolphins are a good one, right?’

  ‘I should think so,’ shouted Reece. ‘Unless you’re a fish.’

  Brandon was in his wet suit already and Casey and Danny were kitting up below. The wind was blowing hard and purple-black clouds made an ugly contusion in the sky. The calm swell was now a rolling frenzy. Small fizzing crests broke at the tip of each wave. They were about an hour away from the bay and its cove of gold. The barometer was falling fast.

  Reece was listening to the radio. He was scowling.

  Casey came up from below and looked around. ‘Crap,’ he stated.

  ‘We’re going to go in and see if we have time for a quick dive,’ said Brandon, his voice raised enough for Casey to hear him.

  Reece had heard too. ‘If it gets much worse we’re going to high-tail it back. Looks like we’re heading for a force eight and I don’t think the bay can give us enough protection once we get into the sevens.’

  Brandon loved the spray as it blew on his face. He would have been looking forward to the storm if it hadn’t been about to screw up the dive.

  Danny came up. ‘Are we sailing into a freakin’ hurricane here?’ he said, his eyes on the far horizon. ‘It’s like fourteen hundred hours, right, not sunset?’

  Reece grinned. ‘Let’s just say it isn’t looking pretty.’

  ‘All right,’ said Danny. ‘Bring it on.’

  The boat was riding the waves, rearing up and slamming down again in a rollercoaster fashion. Brandon looked towards the faraway headland. This wasn’t going to be some leisurely sports dive. This was shaping up to be a real dangerous mission. It was going to be a race against the clock.

  Soon enough they were in the bay, heading straight for the cove. Reece weighed anchor and ran back to the cockpit. ‘You got about an hour, boys. I’ll keep you posted on the weather. Get going.’

  They rolled off the boat’s shallow side into the sea.

  ‘Look!’ said Danny, over the radio. ‘What the fuck do you call that?’

  Brandon peered down to the seabed below. His eyes widened.

  ‘Welcome to Sharkopolis,’ crackled Casey.

  Hundreds of hammerheads were patrolling the seabed, their flat, elongated heads sweeping the sand, like a metal detector searches for landmines.

  ‘Wow,’ said Danny. ‘This could make one crazy YouTube video.’

  ‘Didn’t you bring your Android phone?’ quipped Brandon. ‘The fucking fish are everywhere,’ h
e added redundantly. If dolphins were good luck, what were hammerhead sharks? The animals were right on top of where they wanted to be. ‘Can you guys see anything?’ he radioed.

  ‘Sharks.’ That was Danny.

  ‘Nothing on the bottom,’ called Casey. ‘Just sand and coral.’

  ‘We’re right over the spot,’ Brandon told them.

  ‘Casey,’ radioed Danny, ‘want to accompany me down to the bottom? You can be my shark buddy.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Casey.

  Brandon stared down at the hammerheads sweeping back and forth. His heart sank. Last time the gold had been lying on the sand, twinkling up at him. This time there was nothing but sand and sealife. He had been dreaming of filling the green GI duffel he was carrying with coins but now that seemed like a foolish dream. Instead a storm was brewing upstairs and a National Geographic shark cluster-fuck was going on below.

  Closer to shore, at the edge of his vision, a dozen hammerheads seemed to be swimming in a giant figure of eight. He propelled himself towards the formation simply because he had no other point of focus.

  The hammerhead had a fierce reputation but the facts were different. It wasn’t like a tiger, bull or great white shark that would eat you as soon as look at you, it was a more specialised and finicky predator. The purpose of its flat head was to sweep over the sand and sense creatures hiding just below. If you were a ray or some other hidden flat fish, it would feel you with its flattened forehead and snap you up.

  That information wasn’t too comforting because scalloped hammerheads were dangerous, and whatever the reason they were in that cove today, it was unlikely to make them chilled out. He was pretty sure sharks got grumpy when they were breeding – and why else would they be there in such profusion?

  ‘These fucking fish,’ interjected Danny. ‘Good job there ain’t no piles of coins to see down there – it’d be gnarly getting them up.’