The Samurai Inheritance

XXVIII

The former home of Major Kojima Yoshitaki turned out to be in a fairly unremarkable part of Tokyo, with the usual high-rise apartment blocks, but more than its share of detached homes and several institutes and museums. The taxi driver negotiated his way through a series of narrow back streets and drew to a halt beside a blank seven-foot wall with a steel gate and entry-phone system. Beyond the gate stretched an area of extensive woodland, which was remarkable this close to the city centre. Jamie’s heart sank as he recognized the kind of security set-up favoured by rich men who had things to hide or people to keep away. It didn’t bode well for a warm welcome.

‘Ask him if this is the right address.’

Magda hit the driver with a quick-fire burst of Japanese and received a longer version in reply.

‘He says there’s no mistake. Apparently this would once have been an estate belonging to a daimyo, a Japanese lord. It looks as if the Yoshitakis have been important people around here for centuries. He’s asking if we want him to wait for us.’

‘Tell him no. I have a feeling the fewer witnesses we have the better.’ He saw her frown. ‘Anyway, we shouldn’t have too much trouble finding another cab around here.’

Jamie got out of the car and wandered nonchalantly across to the gate. Reinforced steel, with retractable supporting bollards behind. Heavy enough to stop anything but a proper tank. No doubt there’d be a surveillance system, which meant they were being watched.

‘What do you think?’ he asked Magda.

‘I’m hoping you’ve come up with something cleverer than Krasnoyarsk.’

‘Like all the great generals I intend to use the most effective weapon in my armoury,’ he said airily. ‘Actually, I was wondering if you might like to have a try this time.’

Her lips pursed and he braced himself for the expected backlash to this craven abdication of responsibility, but eventually she nodded. ‘Okay.’ She studied the gate in her turn until she spotted the almost invisible button on the left-hand pillar with a little mesh grill above it.

As she reached for it, a car parked fifty metres to their left suddenly growled into life and drew out into the roadway. They tensed as it inched its way towards them, and they found themselves the focus of the two hard-eyed young Japanese men. Jamie sensed they were memorizing every molecule of his features. As if that wasn’t proof enough, as the car drew level the man in the passenger seat raised a camera to the open window and the quick-fire click-click-click of the automatic shutter announced he was taking multiple images. When the photographer was satisfied he said something to the driver, the engine revved and the car sped off.

‘What was that all about?’ Magda wondered aloud.

Jamie watched the car disappear round a corner. ‘I’m not sure. The police, probably. They saw us mooching around and decided to take a look just in case we had larceny in mind.’ Unless, of course, they were watching the place for a specific reason. But what that reason might be, and why they should want pictures of visitors, was anybody’s guess. He was certain of only one thing: it stank to high heaven. He could see she didn’t believe him, but there was no point in speculating.

Magda stepped up and spoke into the microphone and there was a long pause before a male voice emerged from the speaker with a reply.

‘What did you say?’

‘Simple. I asked if this was the home of the Yoshitaki family and told him we’re interested in shrunken heads.’

‘And?’

‘It looks as if the feminine approach works.’ She tilted her head and gave him a superior look. ‘They want to know whether we’re buying or selling.’

‘You’re a genius.’ He grinned.

Before she could reply a mechanical whirr sounded as the bollards retracted and the massive steel gate slid open to reveal a tarmac road leading into the trees. For an instant Magda seemed reluctant to move, as if there was something momentous about the next step and it would take her over an invisible line. Jamie sensed her hesitation and wondered what caused it, but there was no going back now. He reached out to touch her hand. ‘Nothing to fear but fear itself, as a wise man once said. This is what we came for.’

The contact seemed to break the spell. She took a deep breath and they walked side by side through the gate and into the shadow of the trees.

‘I think our chariot awaits.’ As the gate closed behind them Magda pointed to an odd vehicle parked in a bay to their right. Painted green and gold, it looked like an over-sized golf buggy with six seats under a canvas roof, four wheels, but no engine or steering mechanism that they could see. ‘What do you think?’

‘I suppose it must be here for a reason,’ Jamie agreed.

They took the two front seats and waited, feeling slightly foolish until, without warning, it moved into gear with an electronic whirr. With a hiss of rubber tyres the buggy followed the road as it wound its way through the open woodland that Jamie pointed out on the map as an island of green in one of the most populated cities on the planet.

‘This must be one of the most valuable pieces of real estate in Tokyo,’ Magda broke the silence. ‘Most of these places would have been turned into parks.’

‘You have to hand it to old Yoshitaki,’ Jamie agreed, ‘somehow he managed to save all this while the rest of the city drowned in concrete. He clung on to his heritage through war and famine and financial disasters that brought ruin to millions. That’s evidence of not just money, but power.’

After another hundred metres they turned a corner and Magda said quietly, ‘Does this thing have a reverse gear?’

Jamie was thinking something similar, but it was too late to turn back now. He struggled to evaluate the building at the far end of the neatly maintained lawn. Long and low, the grey concrete structure reminded him of a Second World War bunker. Whoever built this house had security in mind. The massive frontage — he assumed this was the front — was made up of three storeys of overlapping layers of concrete, each thick enough to stop a rocket-propelled grenade, and with not a pane of glass in sight. It might have been a factory or a military installation with its aerials and satellite dishes, but two horses in a paddock on the far side of the lawn were evidence this was someone’s home.

The cart slid to a silent halt in front of the building and two oriental men in dark suits stepped out from a hidden guard house to meet them. Meet, but not greet. Not a word was spoken as they motioned Jamie and Magda from their seats and indicated they should raise their hands to be searched. Jamie complied without protest and the leaner of the two began to pat him down, but Magda spat a stream of Japanese at the man facing her. Built squat, low and solid as a brick outhouse, the most emotionless eyes she’d ever seen stared out from a flat, moon face and his only reply was to step back and fold his arms over his massive chest.

‘I think he’s trying to tell you that you’re not going anywhere until he searches you,’ Jamie pointed out.

‘And you think I’m going to let him?’ She glared.

‘Look at them. They’re professionals. All we are to them is a potential threat.’

‘I don’t want some Japanese pervert running his filthy hands all over me.’

‘Actually, he looks more Korean. And look at his left hand.’

The man stood patiently with his arms crossed, the fingers splayed out against the fabric of his jacket. ‘You mean he’s missing a finger?’ She smiled sweetly at her confronter. ‘With a face like his I’m surprised that’s all he’s missing.’

‘It’s a very specific injury,’ Jamie continued. ‘The top joint of the finger has been removed. I think he probably cut it off himself.’

Magda frowned. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s Yakuza.’

Without another word she handed her bag to the thin guard and raised her arms above her head. As the stocky Korean approached her, she whispered something to him in Japanese. The man stared at her for a long moment before his face split into a grin. Three minutes later they were being escorted down a corridor of polished concrete under the unblinking red eye of a pair of security cameras.

‘What did you say to him?’ Jamie asked.

‘I told him that if his hands got out of place even once I’d add something else to his list of missing parts.’ She studied the corridor’s bare walls. ‘What really interests me is why a Japanese gangster would agree to see us?’

‘It has to be the head,’ Jamie said. ‘It confirms this house is connected to Major Kojima Yoshitaki and whoever now owns it is intrigued enough to open the doors of his citadel to us. The chiefs of the Yakuza crime clans like to think of themselves as civilized businessmen, regardless of the evidence. He obviously thinks he has nothing to lose by meeting us.’

‘You seem to know a lot about them for an art dealer.’

‘I’ve come across them a couple of times in Europe,’ he confessed, ‘though without really knowing who I was dealing with. The Yakuza is an international organization. They’re as happy trafficking stolen artworks as drugs or Korean sex slaves, so I had to learn a bit about them. On one level they run an incredibly sophisticated operation, a sort of global criminal octopus whose tentacles reach into every country and at all levels of society. On another they’re just a brutal gang of thugs, with almost medieval rules and traditions.’

‘The human battering ram there with his missing finger?’

‘Exactly. If a lower ranking member of a clan offends his boss in some way he has to cut off the top of his finger and send him it as a sign of apology. And if our friend there was to take off his shirt I can just about guarantee you’d find his torso covered in tattoos that signify his status in the organization. It’s a matter of honour among the Yakuza to have it done the traditional way — what they call “hand poked” — by an expert using a sharp stick rather than a machine.’

Magda looked over her shoulder at the human battering ram, who stared back with a half-smile that made her wonder if he was as dumb as he made out. ‘Tough guys, huh?’

‘Tough guys indeed.’

‘Did I ever tell you about my tattoo?’

Jamie was still laughing as they climbed a set of wide white stairs that led to the second level of the building. When they reached the top he understood why the outside of the building had no windows. It had been designed as an open square, with a central area as large as half a football pitch. The second and third storeys had inner walls of glass looking out on to an immaculate Japanese garden, complete with streams and waterfalls and fishponds, miniature temples and ornate bridges. Somehow the temperature and humidity in the garden must have been regulated because, despite the season, all sorts of flowers and trees were still in bloom, creating a blaze of colour from azure-petalled irises, pastel-painted orchids, delicate pink cherry blossom and flame-tipped azaleas. They barely had time for a glimpse before their silent escort led them to a room furnished with chairs and couches that looked as if they’d been carved from concrete, but which they discovered were actually fabric.

After a few minutes an electronic door in the far wall slid open and the thin guard ushered them through to a large office. Jamie gradually became aware of another presence. A woman stood partially hidden in the shadows staring out of the window at the garden. Slim and straight backed, her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a white blouse and tight riding breeches. Her hands were clasped behind her back in a pose that was more European than Oriental and her whole bearing had an air of strength and authority.

They waited for her to turn and acknowledge them, but she seemed in no hurry and Jamie allowed his eyes to drift over the room. The first thing that drew his attention was a large oak desk on which a long Samurai sword lay horizontally on a cushion of blue velvet. For all the formality of its display it was a functional weapon: a soldier’s sword. It had a well-worn leather grip and the naked blade was long and slightly curved, the edge glinted blue from regular sharpening. Something told him its purpose wasn’t purely ornamental.

‘My grandfather’s sword.’ The words were addressed at Jamie and in English without a trace of accent, but they emerged from features that could not have been more Japanese. Her face was made up of planes and shadows with barely a curve to mar the symmetry. Deep-set dark eyes stared from beneath long lashes above cheekbones sharp enough to rival the sword blade on the desk. The eyes radiated an intensity and a ruthlessness — you might even call them pitiless — that made Jamie wish he’d stayed in Australia. Feminine lips, but a hard mouth; a thin, humourless line that might have been etched by a knifepoint. She must have been close to fifty but her body had the angular athleticism of someone twenty years younger. Everything about her said this was a woman not to be underestimated.

‘You must be very proud of him to display it so prominently.’ Magda’s voice demanded acknowledgement and there was a moment of almost electric tension between the two women, as if two alley cats had met unexpectedly at a street corner.

The Japanese looked the anthropologist up and down and a dismissive smile flickered on the thin lips. ‘Of course.’

‘And your grandfather must be Major Kojima Yoshitaki?’ Jamie took over the conversation with a warning glance at his companion.

A slight nod. ‘He ended the war as major general in charge of homeland defence.’

‘Then it was fortunate he never had to command his forces in battle.’

‘Believe me, my grandfather did not think himself fortunate.’ The words were almost contemptuous. ‘He would have fought on even after the nuclear bombs the Americans dropped on our cities. A million casualties was his estimate of the cost of an invasion of Nippon.’

‘On which side?’

‘You have a sense of humour, Mr …?’

‘Saintclair. Jamie Saintclair.’

‘It can be an admirable trait, but in Japan we have a saying: Silence surpasses speech. Sometimes it is better to say nothing than to say the wrong thing. My associates also think you are very rude. You do not bow, nor hand over your business card to effect an introduction.’

‘I apologize if we have offended you,’ Jamie said. ‘We are unfamiliar with Japanese culture. Dr Ross and I have only just arrived in Tokyo, Miss …?’

‘You may call me Madam Nishimura.’ She walked to the desk with an elegant flowing stride and slipped into a leather executive chair. The moment she was in position a black cat squeezed its way through a narrow gap in the window and crossed the room to jump into her lap. Nishimura scratched its head and it began to purr gently as she stroked the gleaming fur. Jamie was reminded of a scene from a Bond film and something told him that was the effect she had intended. ‘Please,’ she said, indicating a pair of chairs by the door, ‘perhaps we can get down to the purpose of your visit.’

Jamie took his seat with Magda beside him. ‘Prior to the Second World War,’ he explained, ‘your grandfather was a diplomat as well as a soldier. We are here to talk about an artefact he may have brought back from a visit to Berlin in the nineteen thirties.’

‘No, Mr Saintclair, you are mistaken.’ The dark eyes glittered with malice and the cat lifted its head to add its own glare of annoyance. ‘You are here because I do not like loose ends. You mentioned a shrunken head, which I presume is the artefact to which you refer. For reasons of my own, I found the importance of such an unlikely item to you of interest. Under certain circumstances the fact that you brought this subject to my attention might be considered a threat. Someone in my position cannot afford to ignore a threat. Do you understand?’

Jamie smiled politely at the unspoken implication the threat might have to be neutralized, or perhaps even eliminated altogether, but the room had suddenly grown a little cooler. He hesitated before replying, noticing for the first time that the regular shadows lining the walls were in reality small niches. ‘You have been very frank and I hope you’ll forgive me for being equally so.’ Nishimura’s eyes narrowed but he was committed now. ‘Firstly, let me assure you that Dr Ross and I pose no threat to you. I have been commissioned to track down a relic of a primitive culture which my client intends, for reasons of natural justice, to return to its original owners. It is possible, given your relationship to Major Yoshitaki, that you are in possession of this relic. If that’s the case my client is prepared to pay substantial compensation for your loss. We are talking about a straightforward business transaction.’

‘Straightforward, Mr Saintclair?’ Madame Nishimura smiled coldly. ‘Do you really believe there is anything straightforward about your current predicament?’ She leaned forward and pressed a button on the desk. Lights flicked on to illuminate the contents of the mysterious recesses.

‘Oh, my God.’ Jamie heard Magda’s hiss as his heart seemed to stop.

Thirty. His mind must have counted them of its own accord. Thirty hairy shrivelled orbs each the size of a small coconut.