CHAPTER 46

重荷 Omoni

Burden

Harter sat behind his desk, watching the lights of San Francisco flicker fifty floors below. It was eight o’clock in the evening, but it could have been midnight for all he knew. Things had not gone well, not at all.

The entire operation had gone terribly wrong. Takumi might have been gifted, but he had been too young and volatile to trust. Harter kicked himself. He should have known. He did know. He just hadn’t trusted his instincts. Never again. Failure was not an option. They were so close, after so many years, so many losses, so many millions of dollars. He could taste victory, and that would all be worth it. The treasure would be his. He’d finally get recognition for all of his hard work, resourcefulness, and faith that such a magnificent historically significant treasure existed. No one would ever mock him again, and his father’s martyrdom would be seen for the highest form of sacrifice that it was.

He stared out at the skyline, half expecting to see it explode.

“Mr. Harter, excuse my bluntness, but what are you going to do?” Matsumura’s high-pitched voice broke the silence. “As your primary backer, I invested seven million dollars in your enterprise. I gave you the information you needed to launch operations in Japan. You promised me a significant return on my investment, but so far, nothing has gone as planned. I’m sure you know that half of the money came from Japanese investors whom I personally assured would see a substantial return. How am I going to satisfy them?”

Harter kept looking at the lights. Inanna put her head on his foot and rubbed her nose with her paw.

“I’m someone who always succeeds, Mr. Harter.” Matsumura cleared his throat. “Every time the investors call me asking for a status report, I manage to come up with enough news of progress to hold them over. But if the situation doesn’t change soon, I’ll never be able to go back to Japan. Do you understand?”

“That’s your problem, isn’t it?” Harter said, not looking at him.

“I realize that you don’t have a lot of sympathy for me,” Matsumura went on, “but try to put yourself in my shoes.”

Harter tried. The Matsumura clan was notorious for walking on the backs of others to make their fortunes. Yet, this was par for the course. What successful clan or business didn’t do the same?

“Fine,” Harter said. “Now put yourself in mine. There are only a few companies that deserve to be called enterprises. How many do you know that had steady sales increases during the recession? Just a handful, I can assure you. I’m one of the select few who leads those companies. Companies that prop up the world economy, mind you! Do you understand that the global economy depends on people like me?”

Harter closed his eyes. The losses on his estate would be in the millions. There would be payments to the families of the men who’d been killed, hush money to the injured men and the local police station, fire department, and media. New Language Systems couldn’t write off the losses. They’d be too great for the books. Stockholders would be outraged. He’d have to cover the costs personally. It enraged him to think that his carefully conceived plan had almost been crushed by a young woman. He clenched his fists. He would do everything to stop her.

“Mr. Harter, please say something,” Matsumura said. “You must take responsibility! That’s the only thing my Japanese investors will understand!”

“Mr. Matsumura, if you’re so worried about your investors, why don’t you commit hara-kiri. Then they’ll forgive you. Isn’t that the way of the virtuous samurai?” Harter’s eyes narrowed as he turned to look at his colleague’s reddening face. Matsumura’s expensively tailored light gray suit seemed to exaggerate the lines of his diminishing body. It hung as if on a skeleton.

“Risk is a necessary part of any business, Mr. Matsumura,” Harter continued. “If you wanted to avoid risk, you should have put your money under your futon.”

“Don’t mock me!” Matsumura’s voice tore into Harter like ripping metal. “You were the one who came and asked me to put my trust in you. You bowed down and begged me to help you undertake this project, for the good of world history. World history! That’s what you said. But now I see that it was your own history you were concerned about.Your own gain. That’s why things have not gone well.”

“That would make me just like you, wouldn’t it?” Harter said smoothly, stroking Inanna with his foot, enjoying this little power play.

“First,” Matsumura said, his voice shaking, “you wanted me to help you gain access to sites in Japan, assuring me you’d take total responsibility for the excavation costs. But as the project grew, you practically begged me to invest, so I managed to collect the funds from my circle of contacts, men I’ve known for years, men whose families have been tied to mine for generations. Now you dismiss my generosity by saying it was ‘just business.’ How selfish can you be? If my losses are so easily dismissed, what would lead me to believe that any of our gains would be shared?”

“My gains,” Harter corrected him.

“No. Our gains,” Matsumura countered. “Let me tell you something about history. The treasure you call King Solomon’s treasure should have belonged to my ancestors.”

“What?” Harter whirled around. “And how is that?” he scoffed.

“In the fourth century, when Emperor Jinmu conquered Western Japan, my ancestors fought hard under his name. They distinguished themselves,” he said, his chest lifting. “As a reward, they received the power to govern Japan on the Emperor’s behalf. The Matsumura were his faithful retainers in Kyoto, members of the aristocracy until the country bumpkins you call ‘virtuous samurai’ raised their swords and took over.”

Harter laughed.

“So you see, the fortune should be ours!” he exclaimed, the blood draining from his face with rage at Harter’s mockery.

“Mr. Matsumura, no doubt you’re proud of your roots, but you aren’t the only one who has lost money. I don’t know how long your family has held onto its fortunes, but if you’re so proud of its long, rich history, you’d better just kiss away what you’ve lost. It’s just a trickle in the ocean, isn’t it? Kyoto aristocrats leeching off the emperor always exaggerated their status. You seem to be typical of the aristocracy.”

“No one insults me!” Matsumura moved toward Harter. Inanna, who had been resting, suddenly growled. She opened her mouth, exposing two sharply curved fangs.

Matsumura backed away, trying to smile.

“Mr. Harter,” he said in the friendliest voice he could muster, “I don’t want to fight with you. I just want you to understand my situation. Please be reasonable.”

Matsumura bowed humbly, smiling at both Harter and Inanna. But Inanna seemed to have understood that Matsumura’s smile was disingenuous. She crouched, preparing to attack.

“Please say something to your pet. I never intended to harm you.”

Harter smiled. “Okay. Inanna, back off!” He stroked her shining black fur, but she didn’t stop growling. She moved toward Matsumura, tensing her shoulders.

“Mr. Harter, please. It’s not a joke. Please call her off!” Matsumura cowered near the couch as the panther took another step and growled.

“Inanna, enough! Back off! Back off!” Harter grabbed her neck, but she shook free of his grip. She lifted her face and roared.

“Ahhh!” Matsumura cried, crouching against the couch. He fumbled in his pockets, forgetting that he’d disposed of the gun he’d used to shoot Takumi, anxious about it being used as evidence.

“Inanna, no! Stay!” Harter shouted. But the animal kept advancing. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out his pistol. He aimed it at her, prepared to shoot.

Matsumura’s entire body was shaking.

“Stay!” Harter shouted. Inanna’s growl resonated, but as if distracted by something, she moved away from Matsumura, padding sleekly toward a white door in the far corner of the room.

Suddenly, she stopped ten feet in front of it and raised her head.

“Who’s there?” Harter shouted, pointing his gun at the door.

The door swung open violently. Jet rushed into the room, holding a gun. Harter pulled the trigger, but she anticipated his clumsy shot and ducked.

“I won’t hesitate to shoot you,” she said. “And my aim is better than yours.”

“That remains to be seen,” Harter told her and shot again, but Jet quickly and easily stepped aside.

She fired a single shot, knocking the gun from his hand. He cried out, clutching his fingers.

Inanna exposed her teeth with a growl, shifted her weight to her rear legs.

“Shush, Miss Kitty,” Jet whispered, boring her gaze into the panther’s. “You should be better trained.”

The panther grew silent, watching her intently.

“How did you get in here?” Harter shouted.

“It wasn’t very difficult,” she said. She’d used kabe nuke no jutsu to enter, then hypnotized the guard, getting the code and access to the emergency stairs connected to the penthouse.

“Stand up!” Harter shouted at Matsumura.

Matsumura stood meekly, hands splayed out to cover a spot that had spread on his gray pants.

Harter smiled. “Tell your jittery band of Japanese investors that even though the first stage of the project might not have met expectations, the termination of the opposition was a success. And tell them it’s Harter who’ll get King Solomon’s treasure in the end. So sit back and enjoy the show.”

Then he turned to Inanna. “Kill her,” he commanded.

Jet’s eyes windened.

Inanna growled, but Jet put her finger to lips. The panther quieted again. Jet looked into Inanna’s eyes and took a step toward her, moving slowly and lightly, the way her mother had taught her how to walk on wet tissue. Almost imperceptibly. Weightless.

Inanna growled, but Jet took another step, gazing into the panther’s crystalline eyes. She flashed to the bear on the mountain in Aomori. If she could talk to a wild bear whose mountain lair she’d invaded, she could talk to a domesticated panther in an urban high-rise. She steadied her breath, focussed her mind on the panther’s.

“Inanna, get her! Kill!” Harter yelled, snapping his fingers in the air.

Jet neared the animal. Inanna backed away from her.

“Inanna, what are you doing? Kill her, kill her!” Harter shouted, panic straining his voice.

Inanna froze. Her eyes closed as if to avoid Jet’s gaze.

Jet continued to approach the panther slowly and stealthily, as if she herself had transformed into a sleek black feline. Inanna rolled onto her back and exposed her belly. Jet felt sorry she’d been taken from her habitat in the jungle. What kind of life was this for a wild animal to be at the short end of some power-hungry fanatic’s golden leash?

“Good girl!” she whispered, crouching and stroking the beast’s black body. Inanna purred like a cat, paws up in the air, her body undulating in ripples of joy.

“Inanna! I’m your owner! Obey me! Kill her!” Harter shouted, clutching his injured hand. Blood seeped from his wound.

Inanna rolled to her feet and shook her body angrily. She turned to Harter and opened her mouth, roaring. Then she looked toward Jet, as if awaiting instruction. Gazing into Jet’s eyes, she moved toward Harter with slow, deliberate steps. Smelling blood. His blood.

“I’m your master! Stop! Stop! Now!” Harter’s face was distorted with fear. He dropped to the floor and scrambled for his fallen gun.

“I’m not the bad guy,” he pleaded, fear choking his words. “My quest put your ragtag tribe onto the global stage. I could turn the world’s attention to your village. I could make it culturally significant, make it thrive. Let’s work together. I beg of you,” he pleaded.

But it was too late. Jet watched Inanna’s beautiful body leap twenty feet in an instant, landing on its prey. How graceful and effortless it was.

Jet turned and walked toward the white door. She stepped into the dim narrow space of the stairwell. Her footsteps echoed heavily. They sounded like the footsteps of a sarariman tired of his job, tired of his life.

Behind her were the terrible screams, then silence.

Jet wasn’t proud to have avenged Ojiisan. She felt only that she’d carried out her duty, lived out her destiny in the only way she could. The smell of blood hung in the air, sending waves of revulsion through her. She wanted to wash it off, to purify herself in the cold mountain water she’d sipped from the bamboo ladle on Osore-zan not even a month ago.

My mother must have known this feeling. She tried to protect me from it, and in the end, she couldn’t. So she trained me well so that I’d be able to accept my destiny with humility and respect.

Jet walked out of the building and through Chinatown, where she bought some incense and a lighter. Then she walked down Market Street to the Embarcadero, where she sat on the pier as the waves of the Pacific crashed against the rocks as sea lions barked raucously.

Looking out toward Japan, she thought of Ojiisan. He was right. You couldn’t escape your en, your karma. The most you could do was try to live your life, hoping to do as little harm as possible. She’d done enough for several lifetimes.

She breathed the cold air. She’d given herself over to her weakness and conquered it for her mother, grandmother, and Hiro’s mother. For her father and Ojiisan. For generations of her family. People who’ve been forced to die unecessary deaths should be honored. The dead can’t remember the dead, she realized, only the survivors can.

Jet was a survivor. The ocean breeze washed over her. She prayed it would cleanse her.

She lit the incense and prayed for the souls of those she had done battle with, those who had gone on to other shores. She prayed for forgiveness for all she had done.

As dusk settled on the city, she stood up again. It was time to return to her family.

But first she’d go get the panther. J-Bird knew an animal shelter that would place it in a wildlife refuge. She’d have to clean up the evidence, somehow.

Jet crept back into the building and found Inanna in the mayhem of the room, roaming disorientedly. She made a leash with Harter’s belt, checked the hallway to make sure it was clear, then guided the panther down into a service elevator and out into the basement parking garage, where she tied Inanna to a post. Then she used a tranquilizer dart from her mother’s ninja trousseau and knocked the panther out. Using a payphone on the street, she called the SPCA and reported a large cat in the parking garage.

Then she ran as far away as she could get.

Regret brimmed her chest. Ojiisan had said that being a ninja meant putting the blade over the heart, subduing one’s personal desires over one’s duty for the tribe, for history, for the future. She resolved to take care of Hiro and return to Kanabe, taking her rightful place in the tribe. Though she couldn’t take back what had happened, she resolved to spill no more blood, to stop the cycle.

Rika Kuroi was just a distant memory. Now she was truly Jet Black, kunoichi, able to put the blade over the heart.

If only Amy Williams could see me now, she thought.