Ice Blue (7 page)

The one known as Brother Heinrich spoke up. He was one of the Shirosama's favorites—a former East German gang member who'd found salvation in the True Realization Fellowship. He could be counted on to carry out the most ruthless of disciplinary actions, all without question, but this time even he had failed.

"We have no idea where she is, Master," Brother Heinrich said in a low voice. "The car was forced off the road and the two brothers were dead inside, and she was nowhere to be seen."

"How did Brother Samuel and Brother Kaga die?"

"They both had broken necks. Presumably from the force of the crash. They must have hit the windshield—there was blood everywhere."

"How convenient." He allowed some of his acidity to seep into his voice. "And the girl managed to get herself out of the trunk on her own? Do limousines come with an interior latch?"

Brother Heinrich looked confused. "I don't know…"

"They don't," the Shirosama informed his follower. "And the two brothers most certainly didn't die from the accident. Someone must have been following them, following the girl, when I told them to be extremely careful there were no witnesses."

Brother Heinrich lowered his head further in an attitude of abject shame. He was only twenty-two, and he'd managed to kill at least seven people in his short life, three of them in the service of the Shirosama. It would be a pity to dispense with his services; very few followers had the blind dedication combined with experience to meet such special needs.

"So we can only assume someone helped Miss Hawthorne to leave our protection," the Shirosama confirmed. "You went back to her house to see if she was there?"

"We did, your holiness," Brother Jaipur said, sounding equally miserable. He was more dispensable than Brother Heinrich, and this wasn't the first time he'd failed him. Maybe the Shirosama could make an example of him. "The house was empty, but clearly she'd just been there. There was water surrounding her bath and her bedroom was in shambles."

"If a woman is running from what she mistakenly perceives as danger, she doesn't stop to take a bath. Someone else must have been involved. I am afraid Dr. Hawthorne is in very grave peril. It is our solemn duty to find her and bring her under our protection," he intoned. "If any harm comes to her then we should bear the blame." He allowed his milky gaze to rest on the four miscreants, one by one, making it clear that the "we" was only a figure of speech.

Brother Jaipur was foolish enough to speak up. "Shouldn't we just retrieve the Hayashi Urn and let the girl fend for herself? Do we really need her?"

The Shirosama turned to look at him, his long, silent gaze a reproach that turned Brother Jaipur's dark complexion pale. "We must care for all those unfortunates who have not yet seen the light. We need to lead her to paradise any way we can. There are no accidents. She was placed as the caretaker of the Hayashi Urn for a reason, and we must honor that." He wasn't about to share why he needed to get her under his control—that knowledge was his alone. As far as his followers knew, the Shirosama's wisdom was infallible. The plan had indeed come to him in a vision, but that vision had left out a crucial element. Where the final ascendance was to take place.

But he knew who held the answer. And he would bleed and burn it out of her if he must, once he got his hands on her.

"Then her escape would have been preordained," Brother Jaipur said.

The Shirosama's pale, bleached hands were hidden beneath the folds of his white robe and no one could see his clenched fists. His expression remained serene. "Brother Jaipur, it was hardly an escape when we only meant to protect her," he chided him gently. Brother Heinrich could strangle him—he'd taught the young German that squeezing the traitorous breath from doubters was an act of generosity, helping them escape their karma and move on to the next level. And Brother Heinrich enjoyed using his hands. "We make no mistakes, but unworthy and incompetent followers can be deluded by the snares of evil and allow the forces of the unrighteous to triumph. And if that happens, we must redeem the unworthy."

All four of the fallen monks hung their heads in shame. They wouldn't resist their punishment; the quickest path to paradise was to be cleansed by the Shirosama's judgment. But while Brother Jaipur was dispensable, both Brother Sammo and Brother Telef were brilliant chemists with unquestioning devotion. The death of Jaipur would merely sharpen their focus.

"We must find the poor girl," the Shirosama murmured, using his most hypnotic voice. "Look for guidance—our way will be made clear. I will visit her mother and see if the girl has been in touch, and I will meet with the younger sister as well. She could prove helpful in persuading Dr. Hawthorne of our sincerity. In the meantime, the rest of you must find out who helped her and where she is hiding. We can't allow anything to come in the way of the True Ascension."

The men rose to their feet, and he could feel the palpable relief in the room as they began to back away from his presence in abject humility. He savored the moment, until his quarry had almost reached the door.

"Brother Jaipur," he said in the most gentle of voices. "You stay."

No one looked at the hapless Brother Jaipur as they shuffled out—he had already left them on his trip to paradise. Brother Heinrich, without a word or a sign, moved to one side, knowing he would be needed. No, the Shirosama couldn't dispense with Heinrich. Not yet. In his own way he was just as valuable as the chemists. Who would have thought the same calling would attract German street thugs and brilliant scientists? Once the Shirosama reached ascendancy all would be made clear. Until then he would simply have to make do.

The last acolyte closed the door, leaving the room silent, with only the Shirosama and his two followers inside.

"Brother Heinrich," he said gently.

Brother Jaipur didn't scream, accepting his fate, going to his heavenly reward with the blissful assurance that all was well, and the excruciating pain would cleanse him.

Brother Heinrich met his master's eyes over his brother's corpse, looking for approval like a stray dog. The Shirosama nodded benevolently.

"Find the girl, Brother Heinrich," he said. "Bring her to the loving safety of our community. And kill anyone with her."

"Yes, your holiness."

The Shirosama nudged Brother Jaipur's body with his bare foot. "And get some of the brothers to dispose of this mess, would you? His soul is already in paradise—get rid of the garbage left behind."

He was really quite cross, when he shouldn't allow himself to be. Now that they'd located the urn he was getting impatient. There were only a few short days until the onset of the Lunar New Year. He needed the girl as well, to complete the ritual and perform the ascendancy.

He was getting tired of waiting.

Summer opened the door to the bedroom very slowly, as silently as she could, not wanting to attract any attention in case her rescuer was asleep. The front room was empty; in fact, there was no sign of him anywhere. The pillows on the sofa looked untouched, so either he hadn't slept there or he was very neat. It was dark outside, with a light rain falling, and her best guess was that it was late afternoon, and Takashi O'Brien was nowhere to be found.

She didn't hesitate, sprinting across the living room in her bare feet and grabbing her shoes, which were set neatly by the door. His weren't there, which meant he was gone, or so she hoped. But how far away was he, and for how long?

She opened the front door, peering out into the rain. She had no earthly idea where she should go. She could always make it out onto the street and see if she could find a cop, though L.A.'s finest were never there when you needed them. She could try to hitchhike, but that might be even worse than getting kidnapped by the Shirosama. Maybe she could just walk until she found a pay phone that had survived urban blight. Better than trying to find the main building of this rambling hotel complex. She didn't want to risk running into Takashi O'Brien.

She hadn't spent much time in Little Tokyo, but if it was anything like Chinatown it would be relatively safe, well-lit and well-preserved. Unfortunately, the True Realization Fellowship had their headquarters somewhere within this relatively small neighborhood, and the last thing she wanted was to run into one of them.

But she couldn't stay here and do nothing. The more she thought about it the less likely her rescuer's story seemed. How had he found her in the first place? How had he managed to save her without being seen by the Shirosama's men? And why in the world would anybody want to harm her? While Lianne and Ralph Lovitz were about as powerful and wealthy as anyone in L.A. society, most people had no idea of her connection to them. She herself had nothing of value—apart from an obscure Japanese bowl that was now ostensibly out of her reach.

No, scratch that. She'd foolishly told her rescuer that it wasn't the real one. Which meant he needed her to find it, and chances were he could be just as lethal as her mother's guru. More so, in fact. The True Realization Fellowship simply wanted her; as far as she knew they didn't actually want to harm her. But her companion had killed. And he sounded as if he had no objection to killing again if need be.

She couldn't afford to hesitate. She took off down the winding drive, keeping as close to the carefully planted vegetation as she could, skirting the other bungalows until she made it to the front entrance, guarded by the bright red Japanese  torii gate. The city traffic was heavy, as always, but she crossed at the first intersection, heading toward the row of tiny shops and restaurants. Someone would either let her use the house phone or tell her where a pay phone was.

The one asset she still had with her was her brain—she'd memorized her phone card numbers. She could call Micah at the museum—he was probably wondering where the hell she was—and get him to pick her up, bring her passport and even front her some money and drive her car over. She had a second set of keys in her desk, and with any luck the Volvo was still sitting in the parking lot up in the Santa Monica Mountains.

She had no luck until the third restaurant, a tiny noodle shop, and by that time she was thoroughly soaked. The woman at the counter didn't understand much English, but with a combination of pantomime and pleading Summer got what she wanted—a pay phone at the back of restaurant, just off the kitchen.

She was ready to faint with hunger—the smells were making her crazy—but she had no money. She'd simply have to wait. At least Micah answered his private phone line immediately, and after a few panicked questions he settled down to write a list, and promised to meet her as soon as he could get there, probably an hour, given that it was raining and rush hour. She had to be satisfied with that.

She didn't think she was going to be able to explain to the proprietor that in an hour she'd have more than enough money to buy everything on the menu; their initial exchange had been difficult enough and the old lady had been reluctant. Summer ducked back behind the wall, into the shadows. People were coming in and out of the shop, the flow of Japanese and English incomprehensible from her spot, the smell of the food a torment that she had no choice but to endure till rescue came. She was so busy concentrating on the front of the shop that she didn't hear the kitchen door open, and then it was too late.

"What's up?" The cook was no more than a teenager, with several piercings, bleached hair and a friendly expression on his face. He sounded as if he'd grown up in the Valley, so at least with him the language difference wouldn't be a factor.

"I'm waiting for someone," Summer said. "Do you mind if I stay back here?"

"My mom would bust a gut if she caught you," he said cheerfully, and Summer's growling stomach tightened. "But she stays out by the counter—she doesn't trust anyone except me, and that's only sometimes. Go on in the kitchen. You can wait there."

"Thank you!" Summer breathed. Being near all that food was going to be an even greater torment, but at least she'd be safely out of sight for the time being.

The kitchen, really nothing more than a prep table and a couple of huge stoves, was a mass of steam and smells, and Summer found a stool in a corner, as far away from temptation as she could manage. When the kid came back in he took one look at her, grinned and said, "You hungry?"

Pride demanded she say no, but after the last twenty-four hours pride had no place in her life. "Starving," she said. "I have no money, but my friend is coming and he'll pay…"

"No problem," the kid said, dishing up a simmering bowl of noodles and squid and handing it to her, plus a pair of chopsticks. Summer didn't hesitate. She'd spent her life trying to avoid tentacles, but at that moment she'd eat a live cow.

Her newest savior busied himself dishing up noodles, refilling her own bowl once she'd emptied it, this time with chicken, thank God. He made several trips in and out of the dining room, and Summer ate until she couldn't move, then leaned back against the kitchen wall, feeling more human and hopeful than she had since this whole nightmare had begun. It had been close to an hour since she'd called. Micah should be there anytime, and she needed to be on the lookout for him.

The kid came back into the kitchen with a tray full of empty bowls, setting it by the sink, and she was just about to offer to work on the dishes when the door opened again.

"I'm sorry," the teen said, sounding truly regretful, as two white-robed brethren headed toward her.