Ice Blue (33 page)

Taka bowed low, not making the mistake of insulting the man by offering him money. If the night ended with any kind of success, he'd see that some kind of reward made it into the old man's gnarled hands. Tonazumi was a poor town, and the Shirosama wasn't going to be around long enough to make a difference.

"We'll be climbing partway," he told Reno when he caught up with him. "The main roads are guarded."

"Why don't we just shoot our way through?"

"Because they might kill Summer," Taka said patiently.

His cousin wisely said nothing.

There was an odd glow halfway up the mountain, hidden by the evergreens. Television lights, for the Shirosama's big production.

Fortunately, the Shirosama was missing a major prop. The Hayashi Urn was safely tucked in Taka's leather backpack. Even if the cult leader still had the remains of the original Shirosama, if he didn't have the proper receptacle, then what was the point?

Unless he had a fake urn. The sacred remains were probably a fake, as well. Taka had grave doubts about the condition of bone and ash after almost four hundred years. But if Summer could manage to produce three creditable copies of the urn, then the Shirosama could do just as well faking a pile of ash and some chunks of whitened bone.

In which case, why was he holding Summer hostage for the real urn? Why the hell did it matter? The plans were in motion, the eve of the first full moon of the year was upon them, and the appearance of the real urn tomorrow or the next day would be too late. Tonight was the signal for everything to begin; their intel had been faultless at least that far. The weapons, wherever they were, would be distributed, and in the next few days the subways and train stations would be flooded with toxins, and no color of alert or high level warnings were going to make any difference. There had already been too many false alarms.

For the first time in his life Taka felt absolutely helpless to stop the disaster. Things were in motion, and if the Shirosama had his crazed way, Armageddon would follow.

No, Taka was going to stop it, even if it seemed an impossibility. He was going to put a bullet right between the Shirosama's fat, ruined eyes, and he was going to get Summer the hell out of there to a safe place, where no one could ever put murderous hands on her again.

Including himself.

They ditched the car halfway up the mountain, grabbed their backpacks and began circling around toward the glow of artificial light.

The night was cold, with the sharp promise of snow in the air. For now the ground was dry and bare. If it started snowing, things were going to go from difficult to almost impossible.

Even from a distance, Taka could see the outlines of the ancient  torii gate, leading to the temple grounds, and the wide, flat field nearby. A perfect landing strip.

The landing field was an integral part of the Shirosama's crazed doomsday play. Sooner or later a plane was going to show up. In the banked lights of the airstrip Taka could see crate after crate piled high, and he knew with absolute certainty that he'd found the weapons after all. What better place to distribute them than the sacred mountain shrine itself? The Shirosama would send those weapons out into the world with his faithful followers, and it was up to Taka to stop them.

The backpack had more than the well-padded urn inside. There were explosives, firearms—enough firepower to wipe out half the mountain—and Reno was carrying the same. They needed to find cover, wait until the plane landed and take it out. Stop the carnage before it began, with their own rough justice.

But that meant leaving Summer to the Shirosama's tender mercies.

It all came down to this—one woman or the thousands, tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. Ensuing chaos would raise the death toll higher still.

Takashi had no choice, and he'd always known it. This was one reason he'd tried so hard not to care about anyone, one reason why he'd known immediately just how dangerous Summer Hawthorne could be. Because now she was the one he couldn't sacrifice, couldn't walk away from, no matter how high the stakes. He could die for what he believed in. He just couldn't let her die as well.

Reno was watching him, his expression unreadable in the darkness as Taka made his way silently to his side. "Take out the plane," Taka said. "Kill anyone who tries to board it, anyone who tries to leave. I don't care who they are. We can't let them get away with these weapons."

"You going after her?"

"Yes."

"You got any more guns?"

Taka opened his backpack, pulling out the carefully wrapped urn, then dumped the rest of the contents on the ground in front of his cousin before putting the bowl back in.

"Wait. You're going to need something," Reno protested.

"If I bring a weapon, they'll just take it from me. I have my hands. I know how to use them."

"Crazy motherfucker," his cousin muttered. "Bring her back with you, and we'll all fly out of here."

"I don't see how that's going to happen."

Reno grinned in the dim light. "It'll happen. After you save the world, my noble cousin. Go off and rescue her. I'll take care of things on this end."

Taka stared at him for a long moment. Reno had been the only brother he'd known, and he'd brought him up here to almost certain death. And he looked to be having the time of his life. Taka hugged him tightly and then headed off into the darkness, leaving the landing field far behind.

Summer was freezing. She considered complaining, but the last time she'd mentioned it Brother Heinrich had slammed her in the ribs. No one really gave a damn whether she froze to death or not, which suggested that she was going to die no matter what. Well, she wasn't going to make it easy for them.

She also had no intention of shutting up, and the nasty Brother Heinrich had forgotten to bring more duct tape up this icy mountain with him. He'd tried slapping the old stuff on, but it didn't stick, and any gag he forced in her mouth she simply spat out again. He'd been getting to the point where she half expected him to shove his fist down her throat in order to keep her quiet, when the Shirosama admonished him, sending him off on some errand or another while Summer hunkered down on the frozen ground, waiting. Waiting for God knows what.

"You shouldn't annoy Brother Heinrich, my child," His Sliminess said in his rich, hypnotic voice. "He has far to go in his search for enlightenment, and I am grieved to say he often falls into his old ways. It distresses him when anyone fails to show me the proper honor."

"He'll have to get used to it," she retorted with her best approximation of a snarl. "You still haven't told me why you brought me up here. You know I don't have the urn anymore. And any number of people have figured out where this place is. They'll be coming for me."

"That is exactly what I am counting on. Takashi O'Brien will bring me the urn in exchange for your safety, and then the rite of ascension can proceed as predetermined."

"You're crazy," Summer said, not bothering to consider that might not be the wisest thing to say to someone who really was insane. "Taka's not going to trade the urn for me. I'm just part of a job, and that job is protecting the urn. You already pointed out he's been trying to kill me ever since he met me. Why should he suddenly be willing to risk everything just to save me?"

The Shirosama's smile made the temperature drop lower still. "Because I know that he will. It goes against his principles, but he will come for you, and he will bring me the urn, and the Ceremony of Ascension can be performed."

"And you'll let the two of us walk down the mountain to safety, right?" she scoffed. "You think Taka believes that for a moment?"

"Of course not. But he is willing to take the risk for you."

"According to you, the man keeps trying to kill me. He's finally gotten what he's been after for days, and you think he'd throw it all away for me? You're even more deluded than I thought you were."

"Poor child," he said. "I am almost infallible. After tonight I will be infallible."

"And what if Taka ignores your message and doesn't give a shit what you do with me?"

"I am a practical man. You left an excellent forgery behind. We brought the fake with us. On the television no one will be able to tell that it's not the real Hayashi Urn. And I'll let Brother Heinrich finish what he started. A fitting climax to his short life."

"A climax? He's going to die as well?"

"Miss Hawthorne, we're all going to die."

She stared at him. "Yes, eventually."

"No, tonight. The cleansing will unfold as it was written. People everywhere toil and suffer needlessly, only to die in pain and loss. I am here to free people from that endless wheel of karma and sorrow. And my followers will join me, happily."

"And what about the people who don't follow you? Are they going to join you, too?"

"The only way to save the world is to destroy it."

"You're as crazy as that nut-job who gassed the Tokyo subways."

A faint frown tugged at his mouth. "The Aum Shinrikyo were too rushed, though their vision was correct. The time had not yet come. That time is now."

Summer felt a new chill sweep down her backbone. She tried to rally. "Are you going to be an evil overlord and tell me your plans?"

"I don't understand."

"It's an American joke. The evil overlord, thinking he has the hero at his mercy, tells him his evil plans, and then, when the hero gets free, he's able to thwart those plans."

"Ah, Miss Hawthorne. I am no evil overlord, I am the blessed incarnation of hope for mankind. And you are not the hero—you are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Telling you what will happen will make no difference, even if karma decrees that you somehow manage to escape. It's too late to stop it."

"Stop what?"

"In less than an hour a cargo plane will arrive, filled with scientists and soldiers, the best of my disciples. They will take the crates of drugs and gases and fly them out of here. They'll be distributed and shipped to other followers in all corners of the world. Armageddon will commence."

"And what will happen to us? Do we go with them?"

He shook his head, and the white hair floated gently onto his rounded shoulders. "While the cameras are rolling, I will place the ashes and bones of my ancestor back into his ancestral urn. Then I will commit
seppuku
, my blood mixing with his ashes, and be reborn."

"Sounds like a mess to me."

The Shirosama's beatific expression faltered for a moment. "Brother Heinrich will serve as my
kaishkunin
and release my head from my body, then open the gas canisters. In the open air the toxins will take a bit longer to diffuse than I could have wished, but even as the cameraman falls, the camera will keep filming, and the world will see the lengths the divine are willing to go to in order to ensure the salvation of this world."

"But you'll be dead. How will you know it worked?"

"Death is just another stage on the road of life."

"Oh, please. You'll be dead, the rest of us will be dead, and we'll look like some pathetic mini-Jonestown. In the meantime Taka and whoever he works for will intercept your nasty little shipment and it won't even get out of Japan."

The Shirosama had the most awful smile—the only part about him that wasn't white were his stained, broken teeth. "Perhaps," he allowed. "If that is what is meant to be. But I think your Taka is going to be otherwise engaged, and unable to interfere with my well-structured plans."

"And why do you think that?"

"Because he is here already. I can't see him, but I can sense his presence. Surely you aren't more blind than I am?"

She whipped her head around. She and the Shirosama were sitting in a clearing, surrounded by four small, newly constructed   torii gates, a burning fire and banks of lights set up to illuminate the upcoming production. She'd been left alone with him, and if she'd had any sense she would have worked harder to get the paring knife out of her bra. They hadn't found the weapon when they'd changed her clothing; she could still feel it digging into the side of her breast, and in front of a blind man she could have worked on loosening it, cutting her bonds, cutting his throat.

Now it was too late. Three men were approaching, two of them the Shirosama's white-clad goons. And between them was Takashi O'Brien, carrying the Hayashi Urn in his hands.

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"I
f you don't want the real urn smashed into a thousand pieces you'll tell your boys to take their hands off me." His voice cool and calm, Taka seemed unmoved by the monks on either side of him. He didn't even glance her way, which was a relief. Summer looked at him and didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

He'd been trying to kill her. She knew it—somehow she'd always known it—even as she'd kept pushing the thought out of her mind. He was like a poisonous snake, seducing her as he lured her toward death. She had no idea why Taka kept saving her, why he changed his mind. She wasn't even sure it mattered. Those were the beautiful hands that had held her underwater till she began to drown. That had tightened around her throat. The same beautiful hands had touched her, loved her, shattered and redeemed her.