The Rising Sea

37

Joe was parked at a scenic overlook on the switchback road that led up into the mountains. From there, he enjoyed a commanding view of Nagasaki Harbor, the waterfront and the CNR factory that occupied a large section of it.

He set a camera with a powerful zoom lens on a tripod and carried a pair of high-powered military-grade binoculars as a backup. Watching Han’s production facility in this way, he’d seen Kurt and Akiko park and enter the building. He’d even caught part of the race on the test track behind the factory. He was glad to see Kurt walk away from the crash unscathed. Most men would have had enough at that point, but Joe knew his friend too well to expect Kurt to call it a night.

With the race over and events in a lull, Joe bit into a rather tasteless sandwich he’d purchased from a vending machine. “Just my luck,” he said to himself. “Stranded alone on a cliff while Kurt goes to dinner with a beautiful woman and races a million-dollar sports car.”

Leaning against the fender of the Skyline GT-R, he put the sandwich down and lifted the binoculars to his eyes. Focusing them with a light touch, he scanned the area around the factory.

Aside from the race, there had been no movement whatsoever. Kurt’s rental car sat, alone and undisturbed, in the parking lot. The grounds themselves remained quiet. Joe hadn’t even seen a security patrol. But then China-Nippon Robotics probably used automated systems instead of humans, making slow and obvious rounds.

Joe lowered the binoculars and checked his watch. It was just past ten o’clock. Kurt had insisted he and Akiko would return by midnight no matter what. If they hadn’t reappeared by then, it was up to Joe to get them help.

Thinking that was a likely possibility, Joe had put in a call to Superintendent Nagano. He’d been told the superintendent was in the field on an assignment and would be out of reach until he returned.

There was something odd in the assistant’s voice. Joe wanted to chalk it up to translating the words to English but couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something more.

Regardless, he was ready with Plan B: a trunkload of industrial-sized fireworks that he’d launch into the complex as he called the Nagasaki Fire Department for help.

It was a crude idea, but it would work. These were no sparklers Joe was going to set off. He had bottle rockets the size of mortar rounds. Starburst shells and spinners that he could land on the roof of the factory, where they would flare green, red and white while pumping out huge volumes of smoke. And with fumes and fire pouring from the roof of the factory, Han’s personnel would be unable to turn the fire department away. Joe would rush in right alongside them.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But experience had taught him otherwise. “Come on, Kurt,” he said to himself. “This isn’t the night to linger over drinks.”

Lowering the binoculars, Joe caught sight of something new. A dark sedan moving down the road toward the factory.

Retraining the binoculars on the car, Joe tracked it as it passed under a streetlight and turned toward a loading zone around the side. Joe hopped up and moved to a spot where he could see the loading zone more clearly.

The sedan pulled up to the dock. A man got out and climbed up on the loading platform. He rang the buzzer and, without waiting for an answer, began to pound his fist on the back door.

An overhead light came on, illuminating the man, but all Joe could see was his back.

The door opened. A security guard appeared and words were exchanged. It seemed like a heated discussion.

The security guard went back inside and the angry fellow waited impatiently.

“Turn around,” Joe whispered. “What have you got to lose?”

The man stood his ground and Joe took the moment to grab the camera tripod and bring it to his new vantage point.

By the time he’d set it up and focused, the door was open again. This time, Han appeared. He walked out to the parked sedan. The trunk was opened and Han reached in to retrieve a long wooden case. He rested the case on the roof of the car and opened it.

Joe focused as finely as he could. In the case was a shimmering sword.

“Strange hour of the night to be buying collectables,” Joe whispered.

An approving nod came from Han and the case was folded shut.

Joe expected he would lose any chance to ID the driver in a moment. He edged closer to the cliff but could not change the angle enough to see the face. Then he noticed a large convex mirror, stationed on the edge of the dock. Every loading zone had one, placed there to help the drivers back in without hitting the dock.

Joe turned the camera toward the mirror, zoomed in as far as it would go and refocused. The magnification was so high that the slightest bump made the image blur, so Joe took his hands off the camera and watched the glowing screen.

The focus tightened and Joe recognized the driver: Ushi-Oni. To his surprise, Joe noticed a passenger slumped over against the window of the car as if sleeping. Recognition came to him in a flash. “Superintendent Nagano.”

No wonder he wasn’t at his office and his assistant sounded concerned. He was lying on his side, in the back of Ushi-Oni’s car, with a length of white tape stretched across his mouth.

Movement began in earnest now. Other swords were displayed. Some wrapped in leather, others were in additional wooden boxes. A leather-bound book was produced. Han kept this and offered an approving nod. He waved his hand, the entry gate was drawn back and Ushi-Oni climbed back into the car and drove through.