Return to Atlantis

SIX


Tokyo


It was Nina’s first visit to Japan, and she looked out at the sprawling city from the limo that had collected her from Narita Airport with great interest. As a New Yorker, she was no stranger to tall buildings, but the differences between those of her home and Tokyo intrigued her, not least the way that some rooftops were home to so many garish billboards and advertising banners that they resembled clipper ships, about to set sail across the urban sea.

One building stood out—not because it was festooned with signs, but instead because several wind turbines rose gracefully above its roof. She guessed it to be around fifty stories tall, nothing remarkable by New York standards, but enough to put it in the upper ranks of this earthquake-prone country’s structures. An illuminated logo stood out near its summit. A stylized T, the letter drawn with the flowing strokes of Japanese calligraphy.

The same logo appeared on the letter the bowing limo driver had presented to her at the airport. A greeting from Takashi Seiji, apologizing for not meeting her in person. Instead, the industrialist had written to humbly request—the exact words of the letter—that she meet him at his penthouse.

To her surprise, it turned out that the penthouse was above the corporate headquarters. Takashi was apparently so dedicated to his work, he literally lived at the office.

The skyscraper was set back from the streets, surrounded by an expanse of perfectly manicured lawn. Knowing that Tokyo real estate was among the most expensive in the world, Nina recognized something so simple as a patch of grass as making a subtle yet powerful statement: Yes, we can afford this. Having done a little research during the flight, she knew that Penrose was right about the company’s being a major force in Japan. Takashi himself was the third-generation leader of the business, and in the forty years he had been in charge he had taken it to heights that even his successful father and grandfather could not have dreamed of.

The limo pulled up at one of the building’s entrances, the driver opening the door for Nina and bowing again as she got out. A young Japanese man in a crisp Italian suit came to meet her, bowing even lower before extending his hand. “Good afternoon, Dr. Wilde,” he said. There was a faint West Coast accent to his English. “I’m Kojima Kenichi, Takashi-san’s secretary. I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

“A little short notice, but yes, thank you.” She’d had an extremely nice surprise at JFK when she discovered she had been upgraded to first class, courtesy of Takashi.

“I’m glad to hear it. Please, follow me—don’t worry about your bags, you’ll be taken to your hotel after the meeting.” Another bow, then he started for the entrance. Nina followed.

Kojima led her to a marble reception desk in the lobby—where she was startled to discover that the figure behind it was not human. The receptionist was actually a robot, designed to look like a young and pretty Japanese woman. The illusion was convincing enough for Nina to have reached the desk before noticing something was amiss, but now that she knew, she found the replicant’s slightly stiff movements and glassy eyes unsettling. The robot turned toward her and spoke Japanese in a high, girlie voice.

“Uh … what do I do?” she asked Kojima, who appeared amused by her discomfiture.

The robot bowed its head and spoke again, this time in a distinctly lower register. “My apologies, madam. I did not know you spoke English. May I take your name, please?”

“Nina Wilde?” Nina offered hesitantly.

The robot’s mouth pulled into a smile. “Thank you, you are expected. Mr. Takashi is waiting for you. If you will please take your visitor’s pass and wear it at all times while you are in the building?” Its hand gestured toward a slot set into the marble desktop, from which emerged a laminated card bearing Nina’s name and photograph—which, she realized with unease, must have been taken just moments before by a camera in one of the robot’s eyes. She picked up the card, finding it still warm from whatever gadget had produced it, and clipped it to her jacket. “Please go to elevator number one,” the simulacrum told her. “Have a nice day.”

Nina stepped away from the desk with haste. “Well, that was … creepy,” she said. “Aren’t there any, y’know, real people who could do that?”

Kojima smiled as they crossed the lobby. “Takashi is a world leader in robotics. One of the best ways to test our new technology is to put it on the front line, so to speak. Also, Takashi-san only employs the best and brightest people, and believes that hiring such people for menial work would be a waste of their potential.”

“Uh-huh,” said Nina noncommittally, wondering how Lola would react to having her job described as “menial.” To her mind it seemed better to provide a person with work and a wage than to spend God knew how much money building a freaky robot to do the same thing, but then, she reflected, that was probably why she wasn’t the head of a multibillion-dollar company. “So, before I meet Mr. Takashi, is there anything I should know? I haven’t had much time to brush up on Japanese etiquette.”

They approached a bank of elevators, one of which was separated from the rest and guarded by two uniformed men—who were, to Nina’s relief, genuine human beings and not robots. “Don’t worry about it, Dr. Wilde,” said Kojima. “You are Takashi-san’s honored guest. You would have to work very hard to offend him.”

“I’ll try not to anyway,” she said as they reached the guards. She expected them to check her identity, but instead a line of laser light from a sensor above the door danced briefly over a barcode on her pass. The absence of alarms and sirens satisfied the two men that she was approved to enter, and they bowed to her before moving aside.

“This is Takashi-san’s private elevator,” said Kojima as the doors opened and they entered. Despite the building’s height, there were only three buttons on the control panel. He pushed the topmost. “It only serves the parking garage, the lobby, and the penthouse. But,” he continued as the car started to rise, accelerating quickly enough for Nina to feel it in the pit of her stomach, “he rarely uses it these days.”

“So it’s true he hardly ever leaves the penthouse? Why?”

“I wouldn’t presume to speak for Takashi-san. But I’m sure he will tell you if you ask.”

Nina was indeed curious, but she had more important questions for the reclusive industrialist. Before long, the elevator stopped. “Follow me, please,” said Kojima.

The hallway of Takashi’s penthouse was decorated with pale wall panels intercut with beams of contrasting dark hardwood, the floor varnished and polished to a lacquered shine. It was austere and minimalist, yet clearly extremely expensive. Windows to one side looked out across the sunset sprawl of Tokyo, the white peak of Mount Fuji visible in the distance. “That’s a hell of a view,” she said, feeling a twinge of vertigo.

They passed several doors before arriving at the end of the hall. Kojima knocked on the double oak doors there, waiting for several seconds until hearing a reply from within and opening them. With another bow, he gestured for Nina to enter.

The room beyond ran the entire width of the skyscraper, windows on three sides providing a panoramic view of the city. Despite its size, it was sparsely appointed, with more potted plants than items of furniture. A large desk was the focal point, a single elegant chair placed before it.

Behind the desk was Takashi Seiji.

The official photograph Nina had seen on the company website was considerably out of date. She guessed him to be in his seventies, at least twenty years older than his public face. He was bald but for thin gray wisps above his ears, wrinkles and bags narrowing his eyes to sleepy slits. However, there was nothing remotely tired about his gaze, which locked on to Nina as she entered the room. He stood, revealing a hunched, but still strong, figure.

Kojima guided Nina to the desk, then spoke to Takashi in Japanese. She recognized her name among the words. The old man said nothing, but bowed deeply, so far that she thought his head would touch the desk. When he straightened again, he spoke, his secretary translating. “Welcome to Japan, Dr. Wilde. I am most honored by your presence.”

“Thank you, Mr. Takashi,” she replied. “It’s my pleasure to be here.”

Kojima relayed this to his boss, who sat back down and nodded at the solitary chair. “Please take a seat,” Kojima told her.

Nina did so. The plain wooden chair looked as ascetic as the rest of the room, but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. “Would you care for any refreshment before we begin?” Kojima asked. “Tea, coffee?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” she said. “I’d like to get down to business.”

Takashi made a small sound of amusement before Kojima could translate for him. He understood English? “Takashi-san appreciates your attitude,” the younger man told her after his boss spoke. “The Japanese obsession with protocol slows down business and wastes too much time.”

“And at my age, time is a more precious resource than money,” Takashi added. Though he had a strong accent, his English was precise. He smiled slightly. “My apologies, Dr. Wilde. Speaking through a translator is another protocol that is expected. But now that I see you have as little patience as I for such things, we can continue in a more efficient manner.”

“What would you have done if I’d asked for coffee?” Nina asked mischievously.

“Since a leisurely pace would have made you more comfortable, I would have continued speaking through my secretary. But no matter. You are here on business, so now we can discuss it.” He nodded to Kojima, who bowed and retreated to the outskirts of the room. “I imagine you have many questions.”

“I do,” she replied. “First, you said that you own one of the statues. Where did it come from?”

“Kojima-kun can provide you with a full written account of its known history, but to summarize, it came from Tibet into China during the reign of the Chenghua Emperor, in the Ming dynasty.”

Tibet: where one of the farthest—and last—outposts of the Atlantean empire had been established. That tied in with her theory that the Atlanteans had, for whatever reason, dispersed the statues as widely as they could. “Fifteenth century, I believe?”

“Yes. It remained in the possession of successive emperors until the Japanese occupation of China before the Second World War. It was brought to Japan along with other treasures, where it passed through the hands of several private collectors before I obtained it in 2002.”

“What was your interest in it?” Nina decided to tread carefully and avoid mentioning anything about the statue’s special properties unless Takashi himself brought the subject up. The United Nations might have trusted him, but she was still going to reserve judgment for the moment.

“There is a legend about the statue, Dr. Wilde,” said Takashi. “It is supposed to contain great power, but a power that can only be used by a chosen few. The power of the earth itself.”

The intensity of his gaze suggested to Nina that he was expecting a response from her, confirmation that she knew exactly what he was talking about. She kept her expression and voice neutral. “What kind of power?”

“It has many names in different cultures. Inyodo, Feng Shui, dragon lines, ley lines, telluric currents, chi … all are the same thing. A network of lines of power generated by the earth itself, a natural source of energy. Just as blood flows through our veins, so this energy flows through the world around us. The life force of the planet, you might say. I have been fascinated by the concept ever since I was a child, and I first heard the legend of the statue over thirty years ago. When the statue came on the market, I had to have it. I had to find out if the legend was true.”

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I had the stone analyzed. It was unusual, apparently a meteorite, but it did not possess any special properties. At least, not that I could find.”

Again, Nina refused to take the bait. “So you bought it and kept it … until it was stolen.”

A grunt of annoyance. “Yes. I had a second property at the time where I kept my collection of antiquities. It was robbed, very professionally—but the robbers took only the statue and left other items of far greater value. I believe you also encountered these thieves.”

“Yes, I did,” she said, recalling a mad chase through San Francisco to recover a stolen Atlantean artifact. “They were employed by Pramesh and Vanita Khoil.”

Takashi nodded. “I was told they used their Internet technology to intercept people’s private communications. I imagine that is how they learned about my statue. But that raises a question.”

“Why they wanted it in the first place?”

“Yes. For them to have gone to such lengths to steal it, the statue must be of greater importance than it appears to be.”

Nina had another question. “Why didn’t you report it stolen? When it was recovered from the Khoils, you could have gotten it back from Interpol. Rather than buying it on the black market.”

“You do not approve, Dr. Wilde?”

“No. It just encourages the illegal trading of antiquities—if thieves know they can get a high price for what they’ve stolen, they’ll keep on doing it.”

“On this occasion, I had no choice. There were other interested parties, and I could not let the statue—the statues, all three—fall into their possession.”

“Which other interested parties?”

“That is no longer important. What matters is that I now have them.” Takashi stood. “In answer to your question,” he told her as he slowly walked around the table, “I did not report the theft of my statue because even though I have rightful ownership, there are those who want it taken from me and returned to China. For the sake of diplomacy—and their own political ambitions. If the statue had been brought to me through Interpol, they would have interfered, or even attempted to seize it.” He gestured to Kojima, who went to another set of doors and opened them. Takashi started for the exit. “Please come with me, Dr. Wilde. I am sure you are keen to see the statues for yourself.”

Unable to deny that, she followed him. Near the door, set against the outer wall, was a wood-and-glass booth that she had assumed was some sort of display cabinet. Closer up, she saw that it contained an orange sphere around five feet tall. Takashi noticed her curiosity. “My escape pod.”

Nina couldn’t believe her ears. “Your what?”

“In case of a major earthquake.” Seeing her still incredulous expression, he went on: “You do not have escape systems in American skyscrapers?”

“No—or if we do at the UN, nobody’s ever let me in on the secret.”

Now it was his turn to look disbelieving. “I hope it is never needed,” he said as they left the office.

To Nina’s surprise, the next room contained a beautiful rock garden, shrubs and miniature trees carefully arranged among large rounded stones, all surrounded by gravel precisely raked into wave-like patterns. She wanted to stop for a moment to admire it, but before she could even offer any praise Takashi had moved on to the next set of doors. They went down another hallway, passing more rooms of the penthouse. Outside, a tall white mast rose from a tier a few stories below: the tower of one of the wind turbines she had seen from the limo. Light from the setting sun flickered off the rapidly turning blades above. “That’s something else I’ve never seen on an American skyscraper,” said Nina, looking up at the structure.

“They generate up to ten percent of the building’s energy needs,” said Takashi with pride. “I would like more, but I must battle with the city planners over such things.” He stopped, turning to face her. “This is why I am so interested in the earth’s natural energy. Renewable sources like wind and wave power are a beginning, but the world’s energy demands are growing faster than they can be met. We need more, and it must be nonpolluting, or we shall all choke. If earth energy can be harnessed, it could be the key to the future of humanity.”

“It could be dangerous, though.”

“All energy sources are dangerous, if used wrongly. That is why they must be kept in the right hands.”

The obvious question was somewhat rude, but had to be asked. “Yours?”

“Not mine alone. But those who are seeking global stability and security.” He set off again. “This way.”

He led them into a large, softly lit gallery, the walls of which were home to numerous paintings and woodcuts. Nina didn’t recognize any, but from their style and condition took them to be the work of Japanese artists dating back at least two centuries, some of them clearly much older. At the room’s far side was another set of double doors. Takashi signaled to Kojima, and the secretary pushed a button on the wall. The doors were paneled in dark oak, but the hum of powerful machinery as they slowly swung open suggested that there were heavier and more secure materials behind the façades.

“My strongroom,” said Takashi. “After the statue was stolen from me, I had the rest of my collection made as secure as possible. It is why I live here now, at the top of my own skyscraper. No intruder can reach this place without being caught. My guards see to that.”

Nina was dubious. “What, the two guys all the way downstairs?”

A knowing smile. “They are not my only guards. But come, come.” He beckoned her through the doorway. Lights came on as they entered.

Her eyes went wide at the sight within. The industrialist had an incredible collection of antiquities. Most were Japanese, which was not her area of expertise, but she recognized other items as being from China, India, Tibet, and more. Scrolls bearing gorgeous calligraphy; exquisite carved statues of ivory and jade; a full set of ornate samurai armor; jewelry in gold and silver, precious stones glinting from the settings. The value of the room’s contents was easily tens of millions of dollars, perhaps even hundreds.

Kojima’s phone trilled. He spoke briefly to the caller, then bowed to Takashi and Nina. “My apologies, but there is a matter I must see to. I will be back soon.”

Takashi nodded, then continued into the room as his secretary departed. He paused as he reached one item. “Do you recognize this, Dr. Wilde?”

Nina examined it: a sword, the white blade long and notched in places with the scars of battle. “I’m afraid not. What is it?”

He looked disappointed, apparently expecting her to be more impressed. “This is Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the sacred sword of the great warrior Yamato Takeru. It is one of the three Imperial Regalia of Japan.”

The sword’s name dredged up a vague memory from her childhood, when her parents had taught her the legends of other countries. “Kusanagi … that’s the Japanese equivalent of Excalibur, isn’t it? I thought it was kept in a temple.”

“The Atsuta Shrine in Nagoya, yes. That is what the priests there claim. It is good for business.” A brief, grunting laugh. “But I have owned it for more than thirty years.”

“If it’s part of the Imperial Regalia, doesn’t it really belong to the emperor?”

Takashi struggled to conceal his irritation. “A few politicians have suggested that. But they are now former politicians.” He moved on, keen to change the subject. “Here, Dr. Wilde,” he said, standing before one particular display case. “Here is what you have come to see.”

Nina gazed at the objects within. They seemed unremarkable: crude figures, primitive carvings made from an unusual purple stone. One had been bisected vertically, the left and right halves put back together and held in place by thin elastic bands. Compared with the treasures around them, they appeared all but worthless.

She knew that was far from the case, however. They were conductors of earth energy, which in certain hands—her hands—produced extraordinary effects. When separated, each statue glowed, brighter bands of light pointing in the direction of its two companions. When all three were brought together …

That was the main reason she had come to Japan. To find out. She had never had the chance to complete the set before they were stolen by Stikes.

Now, that chance had come.